y. 


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This  book  is  DUE  on  thll  last  d  tamped  below 


A   PRACTICAL  COUESE 


IN 


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ENGLLSII    COMPOSITION 


Bv  ALPHONSO  G.   NKWOOMER 

ASSISTANT  IMiOKESSlilt,  OF  ENULISH   IN  TllK   I.Kl.A.NU  STANKOKl)  .TIINIOR  UNIVEHSITV 

STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

LOS  AKGEL^S.  -•-  OAL. 


BOSTON" 
GINN     AND     COMPANY 
,    1894 


Copyright,  1893, 
By  ALPHONSO  G.  NEWCOMER. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


©inn  S.  Compan'g 

Zbe  "Btbcnxixm  press 

asoston 


vi) 


A/H3 


CONTENTS. 


PAOE 

PREFACE vii 

PART  I. — Composition  based  on    Experience  and  Observa- 
tion    1 

Introductory:    Ho^v  to  Find  Material 3 

Section  I.  —  Narration '. 15 

Exercise  i.     Incident 15 

II.     Simple  Incident 17 

in.     Colored   Incident  19 

IV.     Embellished  Incident  21 

N^                                       V.     Incident  from  School  Life 25 

ir^                                       VI.     Complex  Incident 20 

VII.     Complex  Incident,  Revised 31 

VIII.     Games  of  Skill,  etc. 33 

"Y                                    IX.     Physical  Contests 30 

X.     Intellectual  Contests 39 

XI.     Outline  Autobiotj;raphy 39 

XII.     Detailed  Autobiography , 41 

xiii.     Imaginary  Autobiography 42 

XIV.     Biography  44 

Nv.     History 45 

Section  II. — Description                     47 

Exercise  xvi.     JVIanufactureil  Articles 47 

XVII.     Mechanical   Contrivances,   Scientific  Instru- 
ments, etc , 49 

XVIII.     Buildings,  Towns,  etc. 51 

XIX.      l'r()ces.scs  of  Manufacture  and  Construction  .  53 

XX.     Natural  Objects. — The  Mineral  Kingdom  ...  5fi 

XXI.     Geological  Formations  58 

XXII.     Tlie  Vegetable  World.  —  Fruits 61 


IV 


CONTEXTS. 


Exercise  xxiii. 
xxiv. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XX\  III. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XX\I. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 


PAOE 

Flowers  03 

Plants 65 

riant  Growth  and  Activity  68 

Aniinals 69 

Animal  Habits,  etc 72 

Nature  at  liest '. 75 

Natural  and  Artificial  Objects  in  rDiijuiiction  77 

Nature  in  Activity bl 

Works  of  Art 85 

Description  of  Persons 86 

Cliaracter  Descriptiiin. — Keal  80 

Character  Description.  —  Ideal U3 

Imaginative  Description 94 


Section  III. — Naukation  and  Desckii'iion  Co:mi!im:i)  97 

Exercise  xxxvi.     Social  Gatherings,  etc ;»7 

XXXVII.     Personal  Adventures 98 

xxxviii.     Excursions,  Travels ♦. 101 

XXXIX.     Scenes  irom  LUa  104 

XL,     Scenes  from  History 105 


PART  II. — Composition   based  on   Reading   and  TnorrniT ....  109 
Intkoductouv:    Pkinciples  of  Composition Ill 


Section  I.  — Exposihon v 

Exercise  xi.i 


119 


Introductory  Practice 119 

xLii.     Informal  Essays 122 

XMii.     Formal  Essays 126 

XLiv.     Scientific  Treatises 129 

XLV.     Criticism  132 

Section  II.  —  Argumentation...! 137 

Exercise  xi.vi.     Argument  from  Self-evident  Facts 137 

XLvii.     Argument  by  Careful  Exposition 139 

xLviii.     Inductive  Reasoning 143 

xLix.     Inductive  Reasoning,  continued  145 

E.     Deductive   Reasoning 149 

EI.     Deductive  Reasoning,  continued 154 

Lii.     Evidence  157 

Liii.     Debate.  —  Questions  of  Fact 159 

i-iv.     Debate.  —  Questions  of  Oj)inion 162 

Lv.     Debate.  —  Questions  of  Probability 106 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE 

Section-  III.  —  Persuasioj  171 

Exercise  lvi.     Persuasive  Discourse  in  General 171 

Lvii.  Persuasion  by  Appeal  to  Personal  Interest ...  173 

Lviir.     Persuasion  by  Appeal  to  Social  Duty 178 

Lix.     Persuasion  by  Appeal  to  Religious  Duty 179 

LX.     Oratory. — Occasional  Forms 183 

Lxi.     Oratory. —The  Stump 188 

Lxir.     Oratory. —The  Bar 190 

Lxiii.     Oratory. — The  Legislature 195 

Lxiv.     Oratory. —The  Pulpit 199 

Lxv.     Oratory. — The  Platform 204 

PART  III.  —  Miscellaneous  Forms  207 

Introductory:    Scoi'k    and    Comi-lkte    Method    of 

Composition 209 

Exercise  lxvi.  News 211 

Lxvii.  Editorials  21(5 

Lxviii.  Book  Reviews 220 

Lxix.  Letters 224 

Lxx.  Diaries 229 

Lxxi.  Dialogues 232 

Lxxii.  Humor 230 

Lxxiii.  The  Short  Story 240 


PREFACE, 


This  hook  is  intended  primaril}-  for  use  in  high 
schools  and  academies.  But,  at  the  same  time,  it  is 
issued  in  the  confidence  that  it  will  be  found  sugges- 
tive and  useful  for  the  lower  classes  in  colleges  and 
universities,  so  long  at  least  as  our  preparatory  schools 
shall  continue  to  send  to  them  students  practically  un- 
trained, or  sadly  mistrained,  in  this  important  branch  of 
English.  Grammar  is  faitlifully  tauglit  the  pupils 
tlirough  text-books,  and  they  come  witli  their  heads 
full  (A  theory,  and  hundreds  of  rules  at  their  tongues' 
end,  hut  they  cannot  write  a  single  clear,  smooth 
English  sentence.  Let  tliem,  at  least  once  a  week, 
devote  a  little  time  to  putting  these  lailes  and  theories 
into  practice.  No  doubt  one  reason  wh}-  this  has  not 
been  done,  is  that  so  few  text-books  liave  been  available 
which  would  relieve  the  teacher  of  the  Inirden  of  find- 
ing appropriate  themes,  and  of  setting  the  })upils  to 
work  in  the  right  direction.  'J'hat  is  wliat  this  book 
aims  to  do.  It  is  not  intended  to  take  the  place  of  a 
Rhetoric,  much  less  of  a  (h-ammar.  There  is  not  a 
formal  nde  in  it,  thougli  numerous  apposite  sugges- 
tions are  made,  and  certain  fundamental  principles  aie 
everywhere  kept  in  view.  Tlie  best  results  will  be 
obtained  by  using  tlie  book  to  supplement  some  moi"e 
technical  grammatical  and  rhetorical  treatise,  such  as 


Vlll  I'KEFACE. 

Mrs.  S.  E.  II.  Lockwood's  excellent  and  comprehensive 
Lessons  in  JEnr/Ush  published  by  Messrs.  Ginn  &  Co. 

The  object  is  to  show  the  student,  first  of  all,  how 
simple  a  thing  it  is  to  HikI  matei'ial  ;  and,  secondly, 
how  easy  and  delightful  it  is  to  work  that  material  into 
good,  interesting  compositions.  Each  exercise  deals 
with  some  particular  kind  of  composition.  Specimen 
subjects  and  themes  are  given,  follow^ed  by  observations 
and  suggestions  in  regard  to  the  manner  of  treating 
them.  Of  course,  everything  cannot  be  provided  for 
at  once,  and  the  pupil  must  be  left  for  a  while  to  keep 
out  of  error  as  best  he  can.  Indeed,  even  if  it  were 
possible,  ^  it  is  a  question  whether  it  would  be  best 
alwaj^s  to  warn  the  student  beforehand,  for  sad  experi- 
ence is  admittedly  the  most  effectual  of  teachers. 

Lastly,  models  are  furnished  of  the  various  kinds  of 
composition,  sometimes  taken  from  writers  of  recognized 
merit,  often  selected  or  adapted  from  work  actually 
produced  by  students.  The  latter  feature  of  the  plan 
has  been  ventured  upon  because  experience  has  shown 
that  it  is  useless  to  set  as  a  model  before  the  average 
pupil  a  description  from  Ruskin,  for  example,  or  an 
essay  of  De  Quincey.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  aim- 
ing too  high,  as  the  ludicrously  wild  flight  of  many  a 
young  writer's  eagle-feathered  shaft  has  proved.  If  the 
models  are  within  his  reach,  if  lie  can  liope  to  equal  or 
even  excel  them,  he  will  obtiiin  from  them  not  only 
profit  but  an  encouragement  that  is  worth  more  than 
any  false  or  over-wrought  ins2)iration.  The  study  of 
higher  models  seems  desirable  only  in  proportion  as  the 
student  is  able  to  appreciate  them.  References  there- 
fore are  often  made  to  examples  of  this  class,  in  the 


PREFACE.  IX 

hope  that  those  Avho  have  the  taste  and  the  ability  will 
resort  to  them  with  profit. 

Reading  up  beforehand  is  l\y  no  means  advised  in 
every  case.  And  yet  tliere  seems  to  be  little  warrant 
for  the  objections  to  this  practice  sometimes  advanced 
of  late.  Tlie  early  work  c)f  neaiiy  every  great  writer 
shows  clearly  that  he  began  by  conscious,  if  not  delil»er- 
ate,  imitation.  Still,  it  will  be  appaivnt  from  even  a 
hasty  glance  into  this  Ijook  that  style  is  not  considered 
the  all-important  thing  ;  it  is  the  snbject-matter  of 
models  and  references  that  has  in  most  cases  led  to 
their  selection,  even  translations  being  admitted. 

After  all  else  is  done,  one  thing  remains  for  the 
teacher  —  the  criticism  of  the  pn])irs  work.  There- 
fore, mechanical  fanlts  and  minor  individnal  vices  of 
style  are  not  discnssed  herein.  They  are  as  nnmerons 
and  as  diverse  as  are  the  individual  writers.  Often,  too, 
they  are  not  matters  of  absolute  right  or  wrong.  Many 
adventitious  considerations,  which  cannot  be  foreseen 
here,  must  go  to  settle  the  question. 

The  exercises,  seventy-three  in  number,  will  furnish 
material  for  from  one  to  four  years'  Avork,  according  to 
circumstances.  They  contemplate  productions  ranging 
from  the  simplest  narration  to  the  loftiest  description, 
from  clear,  straightforward  exposition  to  ingenious 
argument  and  eloquent  persuasion.  It  is  readily  seen 
that  exercises  of  this  kind  are  not  necessarily  limited  to 
pupils  of  any  particular  age  or  grade.  Tn  fa(;t,  the 
same  sul)ject  which  you  set  a  ten-year  old  boy  or  girl  at 
work  upon  may  not  be  unworthy  of  the  best  effort  of  a 
literary  master.  Each  must  deal  with  it  according  to 
his  ability. 


X  PREFACE. 

The  author's  tlianks  are  due  to  his  collaborators  in 
the  English  department  of  the  Leland  Stanford  Junior 
University,  some  of  whose  suggestions  liave  been  used 
with  protit  in  the  lecture-room,  and  liave  naturally  been 
incorporated  here.  Professor  Genung's  Rhetoric  has 
furnished  a  partial  basis  for  the  arrangement  and  ter- 
minology, and  not  iniprol)ably  some  of  the  matter,  of 
Part  II. 

The  work  owes  its  inception  to  the  kindly  en- 
couragement of  ]\Ir.  E.  H.  Woodruif,  librarian  of  the 
above-named  university,  and  formerly  a  very  successful 
instructor  in  English  at  Cornell.  Unfortunately,  how- 
ever, some  of  the  best  portions  of  his  method  could  not 
be  embodied  in  a  work  which,  while  aiming  at  a  certain 
completeness,  is  after  all  confessedly  elementary. 

Palo  Alto,  Cal.,  April  18,  1893. 


PART   I. 

Composition  Based  on  Experience 
and  Observation. 


Introductory:  How  to  Find  Material. 


"  What  sliall  I  write  about  ? "  is  the  immediate 
exclamation  of  every  one  who  is  required  to  write  a 
composition.  It  is  an  important  question  and  cannot 
be  answered  briefly. 

But  first  let  us  give  a  few  cautions.  In  selecting- 
subjects  for  compositions  avoid  i-n  general  those  which 
are  too  Ijroad  and  comprehensive  for  concise  treatment ; 
those  wliicli  are  difficult  and  abstruse,  requiring  the 
knowledge  and  accuracy  of  one  long  trained  in  methods 
of  scientific  investigation,  or  the  authority  of  a  matured 
and  logical  thinker  ;  those  whicli  liave  l)een  worn  out 
by  the  use  and  abuse  of  successive  generations  of  essay- 
writers  ;  those  which  can  have  no  living  interest  for 
your  readers  or  hearers  ;  those  which  draw  upon  no 
personal  experience,  or  appeal  to  no  knowledge  or  taste 
of  your  own. 

Thus,  avoid  abstract  subjects,  sucli  as  Patience, 
Perseverance,  Idleness,  Duty,  Character,  True  Manhood 
and  Womanhood,  and  the  old  triad.  Faith,  Hope,  and 
Charity.  You  can  scarcely  expect  to  say  anything  new 
upon  these  topics,  or  even  to  say  anything  old  in  a  new 
way  ;  all  iho  changes  have  been  rung  upon  them  long 
aoro.  Life  and  the  world  oiTer  too  much  that  is  new  and 
attractive,  for  us  to  be  wasting  our  tinu^  on  these  out- 
woi-n  themes.     Do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  discouraged 


4  INTRODTTTORY. 

l)y  the  oftr-repeated  ytatement  tliat  \v(!  can  find  notliing 
new  to  say.  That  is  the  cdoak  which  the  (hiUard  and 
the  drone  use  to  cover  up  their  own  incom])etence  and 
indolence.  We  can  say  something  new.  In  one  sense 
Nature  never  repeats  herself.  Her  laws,  her  methods 
of  operation,  may  he  uiu  liangeahle  always,  hut  lier 
products  are  intinitely  diversitied.  Every  day  brings  to 
liglit  some  new  form,  some  hitherto  unheheld  combina- 
tion. The  same  thing  is  true  in  other  spheres  —  of 
social,  political,  and  religious  institutions.  Keep  your 
eyes  and  ears  open.    See  and  hear  ;  then  think  and  write. 

Avoid  old  maxims  and  adages.  Such  are,  Honesty 
is  the  Best  Policy,  Time  and  Tide  Wait  for  No  Man, 
Well  Begun  is  Half  Done,  A  Bird  in  the  Hand,  etc. 
Writing  on  such  themes  leads  to  the  habit  of  making 
rajidom  and  sweeping  general  statements  which,  because 
they  are  founded  upon  no  scientific  demonstration,  are 
worse  than  worthless.  Besides,  these  old  sayings  often 
contain  more  poetry  than  truth.  If  you  can  detect  and 
expose  fallacies  in  them,  they  may  be  made  to  furnish 
material  for  argumentative  essays.  Only  be  careful 
that  you  rightly  understand  the  spirit  of  the  sayings 
and  are  competent  to  grapple  witli  the  problem  involved. 

Avoid  subjects  in  which  the  words  must  be  taken  in 
some  figurative  or  unusual  sense.  The  device  is  an 
old  one,  still  cherished  by  many  good  writers.  But  it 
adds  no  grace  to  the  composition,  while  it  leads  to 
misconceptions  on  the  part  of  the  reader  and  fosters  in 
the  writer  habits  of  loose  and  aimless  thinking.  This 
form  of  title  too  is  often  only  another  way  of  expressing 
the  abstractions  which  have  been  objected  to  above. 
Familiar  examples  of  this  class  of  subjects  are,  Crown 


IXTRODUCTOEY.  5 

Jewels,  Sowing  the  Wind,  iStemming  the  Tide,  Sunken 
Reefs,  Links,  Stepping  Stones,  Growing  toward  the 
Light.  If  3'ou  must  preach  or  moralize,  seek  more 
effective  methods.  It  may  l)e  doubted  whether  these 
fancies  and  pretty  conceits,  seeking  to  draw  a  moral  les- 
son from  every  curious  fact  and  phenomenon  in  nature, 
ever  yet  convinced  the  skeptical  or  determined  the 
wavering. 

Then  there  are  whole  classes  of  subjects  tliat  have 
about  them  a  delightful  indefiniteness  which  seems  to 
fascinate  young  writers.  A  Pyramid  of  Vanities  ; 
Yesterday,  To-day,  and  To-morrow  ;  Two  Builders ; 
Magic  ;  Good  Soil ;  A  Little  While  ;  etc.,  etc.  There 
is  the  wonderfully  broad  subject.  Life  :  write  what  you 
please,  it  will  fit  here  ;  though  no  two  thoughts  may 
have  a  common  bearing,  though  no  two  sentences 
may  fit  together,  they  will  all  seem  to  harmonize  with 
the  title  and  the  writer  is  content.  But  is  the  reader 
content?  Read  such  an  essay  that  has  been  Avritten 
by  some  one  else  and  judge  for  yourself. 

Do  you  ask  now  what  you  shall  select  ?  Consider  a 
moment.  First  of  all,  you  want  to  interest  your  reader. 
Your  real  object  may  be  higher  than  this  —  it  maybe 
to  instruct,  or  to  convince,  or  to  arouse.  But  Avhatever 
be  your  object,  if  you  do  not  interest  first  you  will 
meet  with  small  success.  To  interest  keenly  it  is  ab- 
solutely indispensable  that  you  be  interested  yourself. 
The  slightest  weariness  or  indifference  on  your  part 
will  be  detected  at  once  and  beget  a  corresponding 
weariness  or  indifference  on  the  part  of  your  readei'. 
What  are  you  interested  in  most?  What  is  there  all 
about  you,  in  your  books,  in  your  school,  in  your  home, 


♦  ;  TNTrvODUCTORY. 

ill  ilic  (liitics  and  })lca.sures  and  sorrows  of  your  daily 
experience,  that  makes  life  so  little  or  so  much  worth 
liviiitr?     Write  about  this. 

And  vet  use  your  judgment  even  here.  You 
iiia\  l)e  deeply  interested  in  something,  and  may  write 
(if  it  most  sym])athetieally  and  entertaining-ly  and  still 
fail  to  entertain.  You  read  for  tlie  first  time  the 
thrilling  story  of  how  Trojan  Paris  carried  off  the 
lieautifnl  Greek  Helen,  and  how  tiu!  (Jreeks  went  in 
revenge  and  besieged  the  city  of  Troy  foi-  ten  years, 
until  tlu'y  razed  it  to  the  ground.  You  are  lued  at 
once  with  a  generous  zeal  to  rewrite  this  tale  for  your 
friends  to  enjoy  as  well  as  yourself.  But  they  evince 
little  interest,  and  you  are  disappointed.  Soon  you 
learu  that  they  lia<l  all  Inward  this  stcny  long  ago.  It 
was  not  that  you  did  not  write  well  —  you  made  a 
mistake,  that  is  all.  You  very  naturally  supposed 
that  everybody  else  was  as  ignorant  about  this  as  you 
had  been  all  along,  that  what  was  new  to  you  would 
be  new  to  them  also.  You  investigate  the  matter 
further.  Yon  find  that  the  story  is  thousands  of  years 
old,  that  it  has  been  a  stock  part  of  the  education  of 
many  generations  of  imaginative  youth,  that  it  has 
furnished  themes  for  some  of  the  world's  grandest  lit- 
erature. You  wonder  about  this,  and  try  to  trace  this 
vast  effect  back  to  so  apparently  insignificant  a  cause. 
Von  examine  the  historical  side  of  the  legend,  and 
you  find  faith  here  and  doubt  tliere  and  contradic- 
tion everywhere.  One  man  thinks  he  has  discovered 
the  tomb  of  Agamemnon,  and  claims  with  still  better 
reason  that  lie  has  unearthed  the  ruins  of  Troy  it- 
self.    You   write   again.     Your  readers  are  interested 


IXTKODUCTOEY.  7 

this  time,  and   you  feel  that  your  work  has  not  been 
in  vain. 

What  then  is  interesting  to  the  reader?  That  which 
is  )if'!v  to  him.  It  may  almost  be  said  that  we  spend 
our  lives  in  the  search  after  novelty  —  new  truth,  new 
power,  new  beauty.  Not  always  that  which  is  al)so- 
lutely  new — that  which  is  relatively  new  will  suffice. 
It  may  be  found  in  books,  in  history,  in  legend,  in 
speculation.  Still  better  for  the  young  investigator 
it  may  be  found  elsewhere.  We  have  said  that  the 
A\orld  is  full  of  new  things ■ —  very  simple  many  of 
them  are  too  —  which  if  we  only  sharpen  our  senses 
a  little  we  shall  discover.  Perhaps  it  is  because  they 
are  so  simple,  that  we  overlook  them  so  often  or  fail 
to  appreciate  them.  AVhen  you  were  tramping  tln'ough 
the  woods  last  Saturday  you  found  growing  wild  in 
an  outrof-the-Avay  spot  a  great  l)ed  of  white  violets. 
What  a  discovery  !  You  had  seen  these  beautiful 
flowers  tenderly  cultivated  in  your  aunt's  garden,  but 
you  never  dreamed  that  they  were  to  be  found  growing 
M'ild  so  near  your  own  home.  Why,  you  can  write 
a  delightful  account  of  this  and  your  schoolmates 
will  be  far  more  interested  in  it  than  they  would  in 
any  essay  on  plants  carefully  written  up  out  of  botanies 
and  encyclopaedias,  or  in  any  sentimental  iha})Sodizing 
over  flowers  in  general.  Leave  the  first  kind  of  writing 
to  specialists  in  this  field  of  natural  science,  and  the 
second  to  the  poets.  Not  that  all  emotional  expression 
is  to  be  discourag(;(l.  F>y  no  means.  Only  let  it  be 
spontaneous,  genuine,  and  not  carried  to  excess.  And 
on  the  other  hand,  if  you  care  more  for  the  scientific 
aspect  of  things,  there  is  no  reason  Avhy  you  cannot  do 


8  IN  ri;oDUCTORV. 

()jiij;iiKil  iiivcsligiilioii,  and  so  liiitl  luatcj'ial  lor  (jiiginal 
writing.  Instead  of  cop3dng  from  others,  simply  record 
what  yon  liave  seen  yonrself. 

Late  in   the  evening  of  that  same  Satnrday,  as  you 
Avcn'   t nidging  wearily  homeward  with  your  Imncli  of 
white   violets,  you  stopped  ])y  the  edge  of  the  marsh 
to   listen  to  the  concert  of  the    frogs.     You  were   re- 
minded of  the  story  of  the    Irishman  who  Mas  Itelated 
under  somewhat  similar  circumstances.     He  was  anxious 
to  find  the  shortest  way  home,  you  know,  and  when  a 
mischievous  little  frog  down  in  the  slough  spoke    up 
in   a    high-keyed  voice  telling  him  to  "cut  across,  cut 
across,  cut  across,"  he  somewhat  hesitatingly  ventured, 
lie  Avas  getting   deeper  and   deeper  in  the  mire  with 
every  step  however  when  one  old  croaker  came  to  his 
rescue   with  the   sage    advice,   delivered    in    a   stately 
orotund,    to    "go    round    ahout,    go    round    ahout,   go 
round    al)out."      Travelers    in   Greece    assert    that    in 
the  Thessalian  marshes  to-day  may  be  heard  the  same 
strange  chorus,  Brekkekekex,   ko-ax,   ko-ax,   hrekkek- 
ekex,  ko-ax,  ko-ax,  which  we  know  Aristophanes  heard 
tAvo   thousand  years   ago.     Noav  your  frogs   doubtless 
were    neither    Greek    nor   Hibernian,   but    they  spoke 
none  the  less  distinctly.     What  did  they  say?     Could 
you  catch  it  exactly?     Could  you  reproduce  it,  even 
approximately?     It    might    be    worth    your   Avhile    to 
try.     Aristophanes    caught    and    reproduced    so    well 
the    croak   of    his   native   frogs   that   that  line   of   out- 
landish Greek  stands  to-day  as  one  of  the  monuments 
to  his  genius. 

But  you   live   in   the   city  ?   and  you  cannot  go  on 
Saturday  tramps  finding  Avood-flowers  and  listening  to 


IXTEODUCTOEY.  9 

frog-concerts?  Very  well.  How  many  8})arr()ws  flew 
up  from  the  curbstone  this  morning  when  you  turned 
the  corner  into  Elm  Street?  You  could  not  count 
them,  of  course,  but  you  could  make  a  rough  estimate. 
Perhaps  some  of  them  did  not  i\y  up,  they  are  such 
bold  creatures  —  none  of  your  timid  wild-birds  that 
A\ill  not  let  you  get  within  gun-shot  of  them.  Now 
find  out  how  widely  distributed  tliese  English  sparrows 
are.  You  will  hardly  find  that  in  books  ;  you  will 
have  to  ask  some  one  who  has  been  in  Boston  and  New 
Oiieans  and  San  Francisco.  You  will  then  get  a  good 
general  idea  of  the  entire  number  of  these  birds  to  be 
found  in  the  country  at  present.  Next,  find  out  when 
they  were  introduced  here  from  Europe,  and  compute 
the  rate  of  increase.  Why  do  they  thrive  so  here  ? 
AVill  this  thing  continue  ?  Or  is  there  a  natural  limit 
that  prevents*  any  particular  form  of  animal  or  vege- 
table life  from  exterminating  all  other  forms  ?  If  so, 
what  is  this  natural  limit  and  when  is  it  reached  ? 
Well,  we  are  getting  into  deep  '\^■ater,  and  we  may 
not  get  out.  But  no  matter.  It  is  to  l)e  hoped  you 
do  not  believe  that  asking  questions  is  the  special  pre- 
rogative of  fools.  There  are  many  questions  that  no 
fool  Avas  ever  capable  of  asking.  Indeed  there  is 
scarcely  a  better  test  of  a  man's  intelligence  than  the 
sort  of  questions  he  asks.  And  so  our  questions  may 
go  unaiiswei-ed.  What  then  ?  AVc  have  at  least  had 
something  to  think  about  and  to  write  about. 

There  was  another  thing  you  noticed  this  morning. 
The  little  green-painted  flower-pot  with  its  blooming- 
geranium  was  not  to  l)e  seen  in  its  customary  place 
on  the  window-sill  of  a  certain  house  ;  and  a  carriage 


10  INTRODUCTORY. 

that  looked  suspiciously  like  a  doctor's  was  waiting  be- 
fore tlie  door.  Every  morning  lor  several  weidvs  that 
pink  geranium  had  greeted  you,  making  a  bright  spot 
in  the  gloom  of  the  narrow  tenement-street.  At  noon 
wOien  the  sun  beat  in  there  pitilessly,  the  flower  had 
disa2j})eared.  A  few  streets  back  there  are  houses  with 
great  conservatories  filled  with  gorgeous  troj)ical  plants. 
A  gardener  works  among  them  constantly.  But  these 
flowers  you  suspect  are  ki;[)t  for  sliow,  and  you  have 
been  more  interested  in  the  little  geranium  whose 
comings  and  goings  cfave  evidence  of  lo\iim-  care. 
Why,  is  it  })ossible  that  you  have  ever  sat  for  half  an 
hour,  scratching  your  head  and  gnawing  the  end  of 
your  pen-holder  trying  to  think  of  "  something  to  write 
about "  ? 

If  you  have  difficulty  in  finding  something  to  write 
about,  you  may  be  sure  it  is  because  you  have  a  wrong 
idea  as  to  what  constitutes  a  })roper  theme.  Perhaps 
you  think  it  should  be  something  remote  in  time  or 
place,  some  description  of  Greenland  or  story  of  the 
South  Sea  Islands,  some  event  in  the  past,  some  theory, 
some  prophecy  of  the  future  —  something  in  short  that 
you  never  have  seen,  that  has  scarcely  ever  occupied 
your  thoughts  at  all,  and  that  in  consequence  you  know 
little  or  nothing  about.  If  such  be  your  idea  it  is  not 
strange  that  you  should  have  to  puzzle  a  long  time  be- 
fore lighting  upon  what  seems  to  you  a  suitable  subject. 
And  then  you  will  have  to  rack  your  brains  a  longer 
time  to  find  something  to  write  upon  the  subject,  or 
else  take  refuge  in  what  somebody  else  has  written. 
Now  "•  racking  the  brains  "  is  a  thing  good  enough  in 
itself,  only  we  do  not  want  to  have  too  much  of  it  to 


INTUODUCTOrtV.  11 

do  at  the  outset.  What  we  \vant  to  do  first  is  to  write. 
Then  after  a  whik^  we  s]i;ill  find  that  the  expression  of 
thought  has  oro-wn  coni])aratively  so  easy  that  we  can 
devote  nearl}-  all  our  time  and  energy  to  the  thought 
itself.  Thei'efoi'e  do  not  s(^elv  too  far  for  material.  Be 
satisfied  for  the  present  Avith  home-topics  and  home- 
thoughts.  Yon.  are  thinking  about  something  perhaps 
every  waking  moment  of  your  life.  You  talk  fast 
enough  too  when  you  are  among  your  companions,  and 
withcnit  even  a  thought  of  its  difficulty.  It  ought  to 
he  almost  as  easy  to  write  ;  and  it  is.  You  will  find  it 
so  if  yon  only  write  as  you  think  and  talk,  taking  the 
same  subjects  and  treating  them  in  much  the  same  way. 
And  you  will  find  too  that  Avriting,  far  from  being  a 
task,  is  a  real  })leasure. 

Is  it  something  new  that  you  want?  The  chances 
are  just  as  good  that  you  Avill  find  it  right  at  home  as 
elsewhere.  A  thousand  aspiring,  or,  it  may  l)e,  chiven 
and  desperate,  young  essayists  have  written  upon  the 
genius  of  Napoleon  and  the  })leasures  of  hope  and  the 
blessings  of  civilization  ;  but  ten  to  one  nol)ody  has 
ever  yet  written  about  your  grandfather's  barn  with  all 
its  denizens  from  the  calves  in  the  basement  to  the 
pigeons  in  the  roof,  with  its  pulley-fork  and  grain 
chutes,  its  harness  room  and  machinery  sheds,  and  tlie 
inexhaustil)le  i-esoui'ces  for  fun  in  its  spacious  carriage 
room  and  haymow  on  a  rainy  day.  The  loving  and 
truthful  touches  which  you  ai'c  sure  to  give  to  de- 
scriptions of  this  character  Avill  be  worth  more  than  all 
the  artificial  glamoi-  your  fancy  may  throw  over  "cloud- 
capped  towers  and  gorgeous  palaces." 

You  have  made  a  mistake  at  times,  perhaps,  in  im- 


12,  INTKoni'CTOItV. 

ag'ining  that  wliat  was  new  to  you  would  l)e  new  to 
others.  But  you  make  a  o-reater  mistake  in  taking  it 
for  granted  tliat  wliat  is  old  and  familiar  to  you  will  be 
so  to  everyliody  (dse.  \'on  walk  Ihrougli  the  streets  of 
youi'  nati\e  town  or  citN  and  lind  it  all  too  eommon- 
})lace  to  furnish  you  a  lilting  theme.  I*>ut  you  travtd 
to  a  foreign  conntry  and  \  isit  its  nictiopolis  foi'  the  first 
time.  Here  everything  is  noyel,  from  the  paving  of  the 
streets  to  the  architect uic  of  the  ])nl)lic  buildings,  from 
the  signs  oyer  the  shop-doors  to  the  dress  and  manners 
of  the  clerk  l)ehind  the  counter.  You  are  inspired  to 
record  your  impressions  and  you  lill  your  journal  with 
graphic  descriptions,  and  write  long  letters  home.  You 
would  like  to  tell  all  the  w(trld  of  what  you  have  seen 
and  heard.  But  you  fail  to  realize  that  there  are 
thousands  who  have  spent  their  lives  in  this  city  and 
who  find  no  more  inspiration  here  than  you  found  in 
your  native  phice.  They  would  not  be  half  so  much 
interested  in  what  you  micrht  write  alxmt  it  as  in  what 
you  might  write  about  your  home.  Realize  this  once 
and  you  go  back  with  a  sense  of  the  rarity  and  im- 
portance of  wdiat  you  had  all  along  called  common})lace. 
Here  at  liome  you  may  not  be  able  to  write  with  quite 
the  same  keenness  of  interest,  l)ut  you  can  make  up  for 
this  by  fidelit}'  and  sympathy.  And  onco  you  fully  feel 
that  what  is  best  kno^vn  to  yourself  is  least  knoAvn  to 
nearly  eveiybody  else,  your  interest  will  be  aroused 
where  it  was  never  aroused  before. 

Again  ;  are  you  (piite  sure  thei'e  is  not  something 
new,  even  for  you,  in  these  old  familiar  scenes?  We 
allow  things  to  grow  old  to  us  too  soon  in  tins  world. 
Resolve  every  morning  as  you  take  your  accustomed 


INTKODIH^TORY.  13 

route  to  school  that  yon  will  seo  something  new  — 
somethino-  that  you  have  not  noticed  hefore  thouo-h  it 
ma}'  haye  been  there  a  long  time.  Rest  assured  you 
can  find  such  things  eyery  day.  And  when  looking  for 
them  has  grown  a  habit,  you  will  find  yourself  living  as 
it  were  in  anotlier  and  most  wonderful  world.  You 
want  a  subject  for  an  essay  ;  take  '"The  Street  I  Live 
111.""  ^lake  a  drawing  of  it  first,  what  the  surveyor 
calls  a  plot  or  plan.  Locate  the  houses,  the  fences  and 
gates,  the  walks,  the  trees.  You  Avill  soon  find  it  neces- 
sary to  take  a  walk  thr(Uigh  tlie  street  in  order  to  verify 
your  plan  ;  and  before  you  are  through  you  will  con- 
clude that  you  di<l  not  know  half  so  much  about  your 
street  as  you  thought  you  did.  So  it  is  witli  everything. 
We  shall  find  liere,  to  l)e  sure,  a  great  difference 
in  indi\'iduals.  Some  of  us  are  naturally  quick  and 
accurate  observers  and- calculators,  others  are  not.  Ex- 
periment on  yourself.  Try  to  recall  the  patterns  of  the 
carpets  or  rugs  at  home,  the  color  of  the  paper  on  the 
A\all  of  your  bed-room.  Can  you  give  tlie  dimensions 
of  the  room  you  are  now  occupying?  the  number  of 
s(|uare  ]ods  or  acres  in  your  play-ground?  the  number 
of  paces  tVom  the  gate  to  the  corner?  Some  of  j^ou 
w  ill  find  that  you  can  do  these  things  with  ease.  Others 
of  you  will  be  surprised  to  find  that  you  do  not  know 
positively  wliether  yoni'  dinirest  friend's  eyes  are  lu'own 
()r])luc,  and  wlietlier  Mr.  So-aiid-So,  whom  yon  see  every 
(Liv,  wears  a  moustache  or  not.  It  is  truly  astonishing 
to  consider  how  htth'  we  see  wiili  our  eyes  open  all  tlie 

time. 

There   is   another   considcialiou.      Nobody  else    ever 
heanl  wilh   vour  ears  or  saw  witli  your  eyes.      Alight  it 


14  INTltODUCTUKV. 

not  be  tluit,  il'  ^-ou  could  look  thn)Ugli  uuolhcr's  eyes 
you  would  lind  the  color  of  the  grass  to  be,  not  green, 
but  what  you  have  always  called  blue  ?  In  other  words, 
is  it  not  possible  that  grass  makes  the  same  impression 
on  another's  optica  nerves  that  the  sky  makes  on  yours, 
and  that  the  sky  makes  a  yet  different  impression  on 
his?  Of  course  we  agree  in  calling  the  impression  re- 
ceived from  the  same  thing  by  the  same  name,  and  so 
there  is  no  confusion.  But  who  shall  say  whether  these 
things  are  or  are  not  thus?  l*crhaps  we  are  living  in 
very  different  worlds  all  the  time  and  have  never  sus- 
pected it.  Certain  it  is  that  some  people  are  what  we 
call  color  blind  and  have  great  difficulty  in  recognizing 
and  distinguishing  very  pronounced  and  diverse  colors. 
Certain  it  is,  too,  that  if  we  could  borrow  our  neighbor's 
eyes  and  ears  we  should  see  tints  that  we  never  saw 
before  and  hear  sounds  and  harmonies  that  we  never 
heard.  If  we  but  had  the  dog's  keen  sense  of  smell  a 
practically  new  field  of  knowledge  Avould  be  opened  up 
to  us.  Beyond  a  doubt  these  individual  and  race  differ- 
ences exist.  Therefore  take  these  into  account  and 
write  with  the  conviction  that  you  have  something  new 
to  say  about  the  most  commonplace  objects  in  the  world, 
because  your  senses  have  told  you  a  different  story  about 
them  from  what  ours  have  told  each  one  of  us. 

Of  course  all  this  is  not  the  art  of  Avriting.  Merely 
an  attempt  is  here  made  to  give  you  a  few  hints  upon 
the  secret  of  finding  material,  so  that  you  will  never 
need  to  hesitate  again  for  a  subject.  How  to  work  this 
material  into  literature  is  another  problem. 


SECTION   I.  -  NARRATION. 


EXERCIISE    I. 


INCIDENT. 


The  most  of  us  find  it  easier  to  tell  what  a  man  does 
than  to  tell  how  he  looks.  It  may  seem  strange  that 
this  should  be  so  when  we  consider  that  a  man's  actions 
are  continually  varying  while  his  appearance  remains 
practically  the  same  and  gives  plenty  of  opportunity 
for  study.  But  it  is  so,  none  the  less,  as  your  own 
experience  will  soon  sliow.  We  can  tell  a  story  readily 
enough  as  long  as  we  are  dealing  with  actions  and 
events,  hut  if  it  becomes  necessary  to  describe  the 
scenes  or  cliaracters,  Ave  hesitate  as  before  a  difficult 
problem.  We  shall  not  stop  now  to  inquire  into  the 
reason  of  this.  Suffice  it  to  note  that  we  are  usually 
more  interested  in  actions  and  events  than  in  mere 
objects  or  scenes.  There  is  about  tlie  former  an  ele- 
ment of  uncertainty  and  siu'prise  ;  we  seldom  know 
just  wliat  to  expect  next  and  our  attention  is  therefore 
kept  on  the  alert.  And  whatever  we  are  interested  in 
witnessing-  we  are  likewise  interested  in  hearinp-  or 
telling  about.     Here  then  let  us  iH'gin. 

Select  from  your  past  experience  any  incident  that 
had  for  the  time  beino-  an  interest  of  its  own,  no 
matter  how  trivial.     Be  assured  that  anything  which 


10  NARRATION. 

survives  in  your  memory  and  which  suggests  itself  to 
you  now  derives  from  some  source  sufficient  importance 
to  make  it  worth  relating.  Nor  is  it  necessary  for  you 
to  trou])le  youreelf  about  the  source  of  that  iinjjortance. 
Tell  in  a  simple  and  straightforward  manner  just  what 
occurred,  what  you  did  ov  what  you  saw  doiu;,  without 
any  additions  or  exaggerations.  Hut  liist,  after  you 
have  selected  the  occurrence  to  he  related,  lix  upon  an 
appropriate  title.  Our  general  subject  is  ''An  Inci- 
dent," but  this  is  rather  too  indefinite  to  serve  any 
purpose  besides  that  of  a  iigure-head,  and  should  be 
resorted  to  only  when  you  can  find  nothing  that  is  at 
once  short  and  appropriate  and  more  specific.  The 
following  are  given  as  examples  of 

A  Severe  Lesson.  Tlie  InteiTupted  SeiiiHin. 
One    "Way    to    Cross    a  IVIiuldy     Trapping  a  IMouse. 

Street. 

Catcliing  a  Tartar.  Wt'W  Merited. 

Nature's  Revenge.  A  Surprised  Jap. 

How  I  Missed  the  Train.  A  Practical  Jolce. 

A  Meadow  Lark's  liravei-y.  Arrival  of  tlie  Mail. 

My  Predicament.  IIow  I  Lost  My  Breakfast. 

An  Unexpected   ]\repting.  Caught  hy  tlie  Tide. 


It  is  not  likely  that  any  of  these  subjects  m  ill  suit 
the  incident  you  ha\c  in  niiud.  Indeed  some  of  them 
have  no  meaning  except  in  connection  with  the  par- 
ticular incident  related.  They  are  offered  merely  as 
examples  of  suitable  and  attractive  titles.     They  have 


SIMPLE    INCIDENT.  17 

« 

been  selected  fioin  sulijeets  actually  wriUt'ii  upon  and 
Avill  give  some  hint  as  to  the  variety  of  material  that 
may  l)e  used. 

EXKIJCTSE    11. 

SnrPLE    IXCIDKXT. 

If  you  have  followed  implicitly  tlie  few  directions 
given  in  the  preceding  exereise  and  luive  caught  the 
spii'it  of  the  suggestions,  the  essay  you  have  written 
may  he  called  an  example  of  .siniph'  narration.  That 
is  to  say,  it  deals  almost  exclusively  witli  actions  and 
events,  with  things  that  take  place  in  succession  in  a 
certain  order,  and  tliat  consume  titiif',  no  matter  how 
little  or  how  much,  in  their  occurrence.  Further, 
in  your  essa}^  there  are,  or  should  he,  no  embellish- 
ments ;  leave  such  things  for  later  work.  No  irrele- 
vant facts  should  l)e  given,  no  unnecessary  words 
should  be  used.  If  what  you  have  written  shows  in 
any  of  these  respects  a  deviation  from  what  was  de- 
sired, rewrite  it,  adhering  as  closely  as  possible  to 
facts  and  making  use  of  the  simplest  and  most  natural 
language  at  your  connnand.  If  you  feel  that  you  have 
already  done  this  as  faiilifully  as  you  can,  take  the 
follouing  skeleton  instead  and  ^vrite  out  in  full  the 
incident  suggested  by  it  : 

lioat  —  shore  —  boy  —  prow  —  calculate  —  leap  —  rec(  >\  1  —  pre- 
cipitated —  water. 

Tell  the  story  either  In  the  first  person  or  in  the 
thirch  from   the  standpoint   of  the   cliief  actoi'  oi-  fi'om 


18  NAintATlOX. 

that  of  an  eyo-witness.  As  the  incident  is  pnrely 
imaginaiy  j'on  will  have  o-reat  freedom  in  the  choice 
of  minor  details  hut  will  he  met  hy  the  (hllicnlty  of 
telHiig  them  precisely  as  they  might  actually  happen. 
Your  ohject  will  he  to  make  the  incident  seem  entirely 
real  and  lifelike,  to  arouse  and  hold  the  reader's  in- 
terest. 'J'herefore  picturi^  to  yourself  tlie  occurrence 
as  vividl}^  as  you  can.  Then  tell  it  naturally,  in  the 
past  tense  and  indicative  mode,  and  with  no  hint  of 
anything  fictitious  ahout  it. 

The  following  may  he  studied  as  a  model  of  this 
kind  of  composition.  Do  not  assume  that  all  the 
models  here  given  are  perfect  or  even  excellent  of 
their  kind.  Many  of  them  are  simply  good  specimens 
of  work  that  has  heen  done  hy  students.  It  may  well 
be  that  you  can  produce  better. 

ALMOST  A   RUNAWAY. 

As  I  was  passing  the  post-office  yesterday  morning  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind  caught  the  corner  of  my  cloak  and  sent  it  flapping 
out  wildly  behind  me.  A  horse  standing  by  the  pavement  took 
fright  at  the  noise  and  the  Itright  color  of  the  cloak-lining.  lie 
wheeled  around  abruptly,  overturning  the  buggy  to  which  he  was 
harnessed  and  throwing  out  its  sole  occupant,  a  little  boy^  I  was 
very  much  alarmed  when  I  saw  that  the  boy  held  on  to  the  lines 
as  the  horse  started  to  run,  and  that  he  and  the  vehicle  were 
being  dragged  along  dangerously  close  to  each  other.  For- 
tunately, at  this  juncture,  a  man  sprang  forward,  and  seizing  the 
horse  by  the  bridle  befoi-e  he  had  fairly  started,  succeeded  in 
checking  and  quieting  hini.  I>ittle  damage  had  been  done.  The 
boy  got  up,  scared  but  unliurt.  I  drew  my  offending  garment 
closer  about  me  and  passed  on. 


COLOKED    INCIDENT.  19 

EXERCISE    III. 
COLORED   IXCIDEXT. 

Thus  far  Ave  have  endeavored  to  confine  ourselves 
to  the  plainest  kind  of  narration,  to  the  faithful 
and  straightforward  relation  of  real  oi'  imaginary  oc- 
currences. Kead  asj-ain  the  model  Q-iven  in  Exercise 
II.  Notice  how  entirely  devoid  it  is  of  anything 
foreign  to  the  subject  or  of  anything  in  tlie  nature  of 
ornament.  Every  A\'ord  is  necessary,  and  you  feel  that 
every  word  is  true.  The  Avriter  de})ends  solely  u})on 
the  inherent  interestingness  of  the  story  to  arouse  the 
interest  of  the  reader.  In  two  places  only  —  in  the 
adverb  toildly  and  the  adjective  offending  —  is  there  the 
slightest  approach  toward  anything  extraneous.  But 
even  these^  words,  apart  from  their  ornamental  office, 
convey  ideas  that  cannot  well  be  omitted.  Now  com- 
pare with  that  selection  the  following  : 

A  DUDE'S   DISCOMFITURE. 

It  was  at  the  Southern  Pacilic  Depot.  We  were  sitting  in  a 
car  of  an  outbound  .suburl)an  train,  looking  out  of  the  window, 
waiting  for  the  train's  departure.  A  young  fellow,  whose  dress 
proclaimed  him  a  "  dude,"  came  sauntering  down  the  depot  plat- 
form, watching  the  people  who  were  descending  from  a  train  that 
had  just  arrived.  Three  girls,  talking  and  laughing  merrily  to- 
gether, seemed  to  absorb  his  attention.  As  he  passed  by  he 
turned  his  liead  to  watch  them,  when  he  was  suddenly  brought 
to  a  standstill  by  coming  into  collision  with  on(3  of  the  pillars  of 
the  arcade.  A  particularly  merry  laugh  from  the  girls  just  then, 
who  may  or  may  not  liave  seen  him,  made  him  flush  hotly.  lie 
glanced  up  at  our  car.  We  at  least  had  seen  him,  and  the  row 
of  smiling  faces  that  filled  the  windows  from  one  emi  of  the  car 


20  ^AKltATiON. 

to  tlie  other  was  not  comforting.     He  hurried  away,  douhtless 
reflecting  that  this  is  an  unsympathetic  world. 

Here  a^aiu  tlu'  ^\•l■itel•  luis  told  his  .story  for  the  most 
l)art  very  simply  and  naturally,  liut,  it"  you  will  ol)- 
serve  carefully,  there  is  something  here  tliat  has  been 
inserted  not  so  nuich  for  accurate  representation  as  for 
effect.  The  climax  is  heightened  and  coloriMl  just  a 
little,  and  at  the  end  a  bit  of  gratuitt)us  speculation 
contributes  to  a  nioie  graceful  close.  The  difference 
may  be  compared  to  the  difference  produced  liy  the 
retouching  of  a  photograjdi.  It  is  just  such  touches 
as  these  that  make  a  part  of  the  dift'ercnce  between 
the  great  mass  of  writing  and  that  portion  of  it  which 
usually  goes  by  the  name  of  literature. 

Now  rewrite  your  last  essay  —  the  incident  developed 
from  the  skeleton  given  in  Exercise  II.  —  introducing 
as  easily  and  skillfully  as  you  can,  a  few  of  these  touches. 

MODEL. 

.A   CRUISE. 

The  otlier  day  Will,  Fred,  Tom,  and  myself,  were  out  for  a 
ramble  in  the  woods  when  we  came  upon  a  small  pond  on  the 
l)ank  of  whieh  was  a  raft.  It  did  not  take  us  long  to  decide 
that  we  wanted  a  ride,  and  so  all  four  of  us  stepped  aboard  and 
shoved  off.  Will  stood  in  the  "bow"  and  directed  the  course  of 
the  craft,  while  the  rest  of  us  poled  her  along  from  the  stern. 

The  pond  was  full  of  reeds  and  high  grass,  and  was  nowhere 
more  than  four  feet  deep.  Here  and  there  were  old,  moss-covered 
logs  or  little  mounds  protruding  above  the  surface  of  the  water. 

After  poling  around  in  the  deepest  parts  for  some  time,  we 
decided  to  go  for  a  cruise  entirely  around  the  pond.  At  one  end 
we  found  a  place  whei-e  it  was  very  difficult  to  navigate  on 
account  of  the  shallowness  of  the  water  and  the  great  number  of 


ElVIBELLISHED    INCIDENT.  21 

logs.  This  place  we  named  the  Northwest  Passage.  After  much 
trouble  we  succeeded  in  getting  through  and  were  going  along  at 
good  speed  when  suddenly  we  struck  a  stone  which  our  pilot  had 
not  seen  because  it  did  not  reach  to  the  surface.  The  sudden 
shock  threw  "Will  off,  and  as  there  w'ere  now  three  of  us  on  one  side 
and  the  balancing  weight  was  removed  from  the  othei',  the  raft 
tipped  and  we  also  fell  in. 

We  waded  ashore  with  all  possible  speed  but  were  afraid  to  go 
home  in  such  a  plight.  Fortunately  we  had  some  matches  which 
were  not  wet,  and,  having  built  a  fire  and  sat  aroimd  it  for  several 
hours  drying  off,  we  set  out  for  home  where  we  arrived  just  in 
time  for  dinner. 


EXERCISE    IV. 

EMBELLISHED    IXCTDENT. 

When  we  s})oke  of  faithful  and  accurate  narration 
as  distinguished  from  a  somewhat  ornamental  style  of 
writing,  we  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  the  latter 
wanders  from  fidelity  or  accuracy.  By  no  means.  Such 
a  wandering  would,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  be 
quite  inexcusal)le.  But  there  are  always  very  many 
things  which,  while  perfectly  true  or  existent,  are  yet 
not  at  all  essential  to  the  understanding  of  the  incident. 
For  exam})le,  in  the  case  of  the  first  incident  cited  here, 
''  Almost  a  Runaway,"  it  may  have  been  entirely  true 
that  the  horse  was  ])lack,  that  the  buggy  was  new,  that 
the  cloak-lining  was  scarlet,  that  the  gentleman  who 
caught  the  horse  was  lame.  But,  wliile  the  introduc- 
tion of  these  facts  would  have  given  us  a  more  accurate 
picture  of  tliis  particular  incident,  it  would  not  have 
helped  our  understanding  of  what  took  place,  of  the 
incident  itself.     In  so  far,  then,  these  facts  are  extra- 


22  >;ak1w\ti()N. 

iieous  and  iiiiiu'cessary.  Of  coin-so  we  may  use  lliein 
if  we  like,  foi'  tlu-y  liave  an  ol'licc  of  tlicii'  own.  But 
even  here  we  nuist  diuw  a  (listiiiction  ;  lliey  are  not 
equally  available.  Admiration  of  the  gentleman's  deed 
would  be  increased  by  tlic  knowledge  that  he  ])erformed 
it  in  spite  of  some  physical  disadvantage.  W\'  could 
imagine  the  horse's  fright  more  readily  if  we  knew  the 
color  of  the  cloak-lining  to  be  scarlet,  because  this  is  a 
violent  color  and  more  exciting  tlian  a  tamer  one.  We 
can  even  conceive  how  our  interest  might  be  slightly 
increased  if  we  were  told  that  the  buggy  was  new, 
because  the  magnituvlo  of  the  damao'e  would  in  that 
case  be  increased.  lUit  can  you  imagine  any  purpose 
that  would  be  served  l)y  telling  us  the  horse  was  black? 
It  is  surely  not  to  l)e  supposed  that  black  horses  take 
fi-ight  any  more  easily  than  those  o-f  any  other  color,  or 
that  they  are  any  more  dangerous  when  they  do. 

Not  every  fact  then  may  be  introduced  simply 
because  it  is  a  fact.  If  it  docs  not  assist  to  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  narrative,  it  must  have  some 
other  justification  foi-  its  insertion.  This  justification 
we  find  in  a  vital,  active  relation  between  it  and  the 
main  facts  of  the  narrative,  which  contributes  to  the 
interest  and  effectiveness  of  the  Avhole. 

Consider  for  a  moment  again  the  other  selection, 
"A  Dude's  Discomfiture."  The  information  in  regard 
to  the  young  man's  dress  is  wholly  unnecessary  ;  is  it 
likewise  ineffective?  No;  for  we  are  less  ready  to 
syjnpathize  with  one  whose  consideration  for  externals 
betrays  a  lack  of  depth  in  his  nature.  The  knowledge 
here  given  us  helps  us  to  enjoy  more  unreservedly  the 
humor  of  the  situation.     And  so  fullv  has  the  writer 


EMBELLISHED    INCIDENT.  23 

appreciated  tliis  that  he  has  even  ventured  to  incorpo- 
rate in  his  title  this  unessential  feature  of  the  incident. 

The  matter  stands  simply  thus  :  That  which  is  essen- 
tial "we  must  use  ;  that  which  is  effective  only  we  may 
use  ;  all  else  we  had  better  omit. 

Select  another  incident  —  your  daily  life  is  so  full  of 
them  that  you  can  never  exhaust  subjects  of  this  class 
—  and  write  it  out  with  such  fullness  of  detail  and  such 
unessential  touches  as  your  judgment  shall  dictate. 

The  following  selection,  taken  from  Houi  Santa  Claus 
Came  to  Simpson'' s  Bar,  by  Bret  Harte,  shows  what  can 
l)e  done  in  the  way  of  embellishing  a  narrative  by  a 
master  of  the  literary  art.  If  any  portions  seem  unnat- 
ural or  overwrought,  it  must  be  remembered  that  this 
is  only  a  fragment  of  the  story  ;  the  portion  which  pre- 
cedes fully  prepares  the  reader  for  everything  that  is 
given  here.  "  Dick "  takes  a  wild  ride  of  fifty  miles 
the  night  before  C'hristmas  to  bring  some  presents  to  a 
sick  boy.  His  object  is  to  reach  the  "  Old  Man's " 
cabin  before  dawn. 

The  stoi'iu  liatl  cleared  away,  the  air  was  brisk  and  cold,  the 
outlines  of  adjacent  landmarks  were  distinct,  but  it  was  liaLti  past 
four  before  Dick  reached  the  meeting-house  and  the  crossing  of 
the  county  road.  To  avoid  the  rising  grade  he  had  taken  a  longer 
and  more  circuitous  road,  in  whose  viscid  mud  Jovita  sank  fetlock 
deep  at  every  bound.  It  was  a  poor  preparation  for  a  steady 
ascent  of  five  miles  more  ;  but  Jovita,  gathering  her  legs  under 
her,  took  it  with  her  usual  blind,  unreasoning  fury,  and  a  half 
hour  later  reached  the  long  level  that  led  to  Rattlesnake  Creek. 
Another  half  hour  would  bring  him  to  the  creek.  He  threw  the 
reins  lightly  upon  the  neck  of  the  mare,  chirruped  to  her,  and 
began  to  sing. 

Suddenly  Jcjvita  shied  with  a  bound  that  would  liave  unseated 
a  less  practised  ridei".      Hanging  to  her  rein  was  a  figure  that  had 


24  NAKUATION. 

leaped  irom  the  bank,  and  at  I  lie  same  time  iroiii  llic  road  l)efore 
her  arose  a  shadowy  liorse  and  lidcr.  "Throw  up  your  hands  !" 
commanded  the  second  apparition,  with  an  oath. 

Dick  felt  the  mare  tremble,  quiver,  and  apparently  sink  under 
him.      lie  knew  what  it  meant,  and  was  prepared. 

"  Stand  aside.  Jack  Simpson.  1  know  you,  you  thief  !  Let  me 
pass,  or"  — 

He  (lid  not  finish  the  sentence.  Jovita  rose  straight  in  tlie  air 
with  a  terrific  bound,  throwing  the  figure  from  her  liit  ^^it]l  a 
single  sliake  of  her  vicious  head,  and  charged  with  deadly  malevo- 
lence down  on  the  impediment  before  her.  An  oath,  a  pistol-shot, 
horse  and  highwaynum  rolled  over  in  the  road,  and  the  next 
moment  Jovita  was  a  hundred  yards  away.  But  the  good  right 
arm  of  her  rider,  shattered  by  a  bullet,  drop^x^d  helplessly  at  his 
side. 

Without  slacking  his  speed  he  shifted  the  reins  to  his  left  hand. 
But  a  few  moments  later  he  was  obliged  to  halt  and  tighten  the 
saddle-gii'ths  that  had  slipped  in  the  onset.  This  in  his  crippled 
condition  took  some  time.  He  had  no  fear  of  pursuit,  but,  looking 
up,  he  saw  that  the  eastern  stars  were  already  paling,  and  that,  the 
distant  jieaks  had  lost  their  ghostly  whiteness,  and  noAV  stood  out 
blackly  against  a  lighter  sky.  Day  was  upon  him.  Then  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  a  single  idea,  he  forgot  the  pain  of  his  wound, 
and,  mounting  again,  dashed  on  towards  Rattlesnake  Creek.  But 
now  Jovita's  breath  came  broken  by  gasps,  Dick  reeled  in  the 
saddle,  and  brighter  and  brighter  grew  the  sky. 

Ride,  Richard  ;  run,  Jovita  ;  linger,  O  day  ! 

For  the  last  few  rods  there  was  a  roaring  in  his  ears.  Was  it 
exhaustion  from  a  loss  of  blood,  or  what?  He  was  dazed  and 
giddy  as  he  swept  down  the  hill,  and  did  not  recognize  his  sur- 
roundings. Had  he  taken  the  wrong  road,  or  was  this  Rattlesnake 
Creek?  ' 

It  was.  But  the  brawling  creek  he  had  swum  a  few  hours  be- 
fore had  risen,  more  than  doubled  its  volume,  and  now  rolled  a 
swift  and  resistless  river  between  him  and  Rattlesnake  Hill.  For 
the  first  time  that  night  Richard's  heart  sank  within  him.  The 
river,  the  mountain,  the  quickening  east,  swam  before  his  eyes. 
He  shut  them  to  recover  his  self-control.     In  that  brief  interval, 


INCIDENT    FRO^[    SCHOOL    LIFE.  25 

by  some  fantastic  mental  process,  the  little  room  at  Simpson's  Bar 
and  the  figures  of  the  sleeping  father  and  son  rose  upon  iiini.  He 
opened  his  eyes  wildly,  cast  off  his  coat,  pistol,  l)oots,  and  saddle, 
liuuud  his  precious  pack  tightly  to  his  slioulders,  grasped  the  bare 
flanks  of  Jovita  with  his  bared  knees,  and  with  a  shout  dashed 
into  the  yelloAv  A\ater.  A  cry  rose  from  the  opposite  bank  as  the 
head  of  a  man  and  horse  struggled  for  a  few  moments  against  the 
battling  current,  and  then  were  swept  away  amidst  uprooted  trees 
and  whirling  driftw<x>d. 

The  Old  ]\Ian  started  and  \\ olve.  The  fire  on  the  hearth  was 
dead,  the  candle  in  the  outer  room  flickering  in  its  socket,  and 
somebody  was  rajiping  at  the  door.  He  opened  it,  but  fell  back 
with  a  cry  before  the  dripping,  half-naked  figure  tliat  reeled 
against  the  doorpost.  .  .  . 

"Tell  him,"  said  Dick,  with  a  weak  little  laugh,  —  -tell  him 
Sandy  Claus  has  come." 

And  even  so,  bedraggled,  ragged,  unshaven  and  unshorn,  with 
one  arm  hanging  helplessly  at  his  side,  Santa  Claus  came  to 
Simpson's  Bar,  and  fell  fainting  on  the  first  threshold.  The 
Chi'istmas  dawn  came  slowly  after,  touching  the  remoter  peaks 
with  the  rosy  warmth  of  ineffable  love.  And  it  looked  so  ten- 
derly on  Simpson's  Bar  that  the  whole  mountain,  as  if  caught  in 
a  generous  action,  blushed  to  the  skies. 


EXERCISE    V. 

INCn)ENT    FROM    SCHOOL    LIFE. 

Siihjerts : 

A  School-room  Episode.  Novel  Kcsult  of  an  Old  Trick. 

A  Lesson  in  Coui-tesy.  Master  versus  riqul. 

"Choosing  Up."  Two  Ends  to  a  String. 

The  Ninth  Tuning.  Minnie's  Freak. 

The  Tatron  of  the  W^iste-Basket.  A  Mouse's  Surprise. 


2ti  NARKATION. 

Here  we  liave  simply  narrowed  the  choice  of  subjects 
to  a  field  with  which  you  are  all  equally  well  acquainted. 
It  will  be  noticed  that  the  first  subject  given  is  a  rather 
general  one,  only  somewhat  narrower  than  the  subject 
which  stands  at  the  head  of  the  exercise.  But  even  if 
you  draw  upon  occurrences  within  the  school-room  for 
your  intiident,  it  will  be  well  to  devise  for  it  a  more 
particular  title. 

The  question  may  be  asked,  Why  select  a  title  before 
writing,  or  why  select  one  at  all?  It  is  true  brief 
articles  are  sometimes  printed  in  newspapers  and  else- 
where without  titles.  It  is  also  true  that  the  title  of 
many  a  book  has  not  l)een  fixed  u})on  until  after  the 
book  was  written.  Hut  the  })rinci})le  holds  none  the 
less  good,  Select  your  title  first.  No  man  can  write  co- 
herently and  effectively  without  having  in  his  mind  a 
definite  idea  of  what  he  is  writing  about.  And  since 
language  is  the  best  means  for  crystallizing  our  ideas, 
for  rendering  them  clear  and  definite,  the  sooner  we 
put  the  subject  of  our  thought  into  some  formula  of 
words,  the  better.  This  holds  especially  true  in  the 
more  abstract  themes  which  we  sliall  take  up  later,  for 
in  them  the  temptation  to  wander  from  the  main  line 
of  thought  is  peculiarly  great.  But  even  in  the  writing 
of  an  ordinary  incident,  the  selection  of  a  title  before- 
hand, and  the  endeavor  to  keep  tliat  title  clearly  in 
mind  throughout,  will  give  a  directness  and  unity  to 
the  composition  that  could  not  otherwise  be  obtained. 
It  will  occasionally  be  found  necessary  in  the  course  of 
writing,  to  introduce  certain  things  that  were  not  con- 
templated at  first,  or  to  extend  or  abridge  the  treatment 
of  a  subject  in  accordance  with  the  requirements  of 


INCIDENT    FROM    SCHOOL   LIFE.  27 

time  and  space,  and  this  may  necessitate  a  modification 
of  tlie  title.  But  such  things  should  be  foreseen  as  far 
as  possible  in  advance,  for  if  they  are  not  they  invari- 
ably entail  extra  labor,  or  else  work  seriously  to  the 
detriment  of  the  composition  as  a  whole. 

Very  often  there  may  be  several  available  titles, 
almost  or  quite  equally  suital)le.  Exactness  should  in 
general  be  the  leading  consideration  in  deciding  between 
them,  although  at  times  attractiveness  may  be  allowed 
to  outweigh  this. 

For  the  present  work  select  anything  that  has  hap- 
pened to  vary  the  ordinary  routine  of  school  duties,  and 
proceed  as  in  the  last  exercise.  The  following  is  given 
as  an  exam[)le  : 

JACK'S   IGNOMINY. 

"  Been  at  it  again,  eh,"  thought  Mr.  Bates,  looking  up  over  his 
spectacles.  The  little,  dirty,  ragged  figure  of  Jack  came  slowly 
into  the  office,  the  great  whites  of  his  eyes  rolling  in  marked  con- 
trast to  his  intensely  black  face,  so  black  indeed  that  it  was  void 
of  the  relief  of  shadows  and  could  easily  have  been  mistaken  for 
the  siu'face  of  a  great  India  rubber  ball.  He  came  rubbing  along 
the  wall,  picking  the  panels  with  his  finger-nail,  and  at  the  planting 
of  each  foot  glanced  slyly  and  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Bates.  "  What 
have  you  been  doing  now?"  said  IMr.  Bates,  sternly.  Jack  was 
vei-y  confident  that  his  conduct  had  l)een  reputable  and  proceeded, 
in  his  own  excited  dialect,  to  demonstrate  his  innocence;  but  as 
this  was  a  daily  occurrence  ]\Ir.  Bates  understood  well  how  to 
weigh  Jack's  words. 

jNlr.  Bates  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  ii  was  ho^icless 
fuitlicr  to  attempt  to  ai'ouse  Jack  by  use  of  ruk'i-  oi-  appeals  to  his 
conscience.  He  would  experimciil  on  otlicr  thcoiies.  Now  Jack 
had  a  weakness.  He  esteemed  his  muscular  powers  very  highly, 
and  would  hazard  anything  to  jirove  to  the  boys  his  ability  to 
accomplish  any  feat  given.     To  his  mind,  failure  in  an  attempt 


28  NARRATION. 

meant  disgrace.  Mr.  Bates  thought  to  come  at  Jack's  morals  by 
way  of  his  pride.  He  led  Jack  out  to  the  corner  of  the  main  hall 
where  all  the  children  passed  in  and  out.  "Stand  in  that  corner, 
sir!"  said  Mr.  Bates.  Jack  uhcyi'd.  "Heels  up  close  —  raise 
your  arms  out  this  "vvay  "  (ilhistrating  liy  raising  his  own  arms  on 
a  level  in  front).  "  Now  stand  there  till  I  tell  you  to  leave,"  said 
Mr.  Bates,  walking  out  to  the  center  of  tlie  liall  where  he  siojiped 
and  stood  regarding  Jack  closely.  Jack's  eyes  were  not  tlie  only 
white  spots  on  his  face  at  this  period;  a  row  of  pearly  teeth  came 
into  view.  He  thought  if  that  was  his  punishment  he  didn't 
miiul  so  much.  But  his  manner  soon  clianged;  he  seemed  to  take 
a  more  serious  view  of  the  prospect.  His  face  drew  down,  his 
head  was  pressed  hard  back  against  the  wall,  and  his  arms  com- 
menced to  sink  slowly  to  his  sides,  but  on  being  rej^rehended  by 
Mr.  Bates  he  brought  them  to  a  level  again. 

Mr.  Bates  looked  at  his  w^atch:  one,  —  two, — three  minutes 
passed,  the  gong  struck,  the  doors  flew  open,  and  the  children 
began  to  file  out.  Jack  gave  one  hurried  glance  at  the  coming 
colunnis,  then  gritted  his  teeth.  He  inust  hold  his  hands  steady 
now. 

"  Keep  them  up  !  "  from  Mr.  Bates. 

Beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  Jack's  forehead,  and  at  each 
succeeding  renewed  struggle  to  raise  his  arms  his  appearance 
became  more  comical.  He  saw  his  playmates  endeavoring  to 
suppress  their  laughter,  and  made  one  final  eifort  to  steady  his 
arms,  but  they  fell  to  his  sides  paralyzed.  His  disgrace  had 
come.  One  mad  lunge  and  he  was  out  through  the  lines  and 
away  across  the  field,  the  peals  of  laughter  from  the  children 
playing  fainter  and  fainter  on  his  ear.  The  experiment  had 
proved  successful. 

That  evening  Jack  was  not  seen  with  his  accustomed  associates, 
but  went  about  alone,  nodding  to  himself  knowingly,  and  mutter- 
ing, "  Fool  'em  one,"  as  he  stopped  at  each  convenient  corner  and 
stood  with  his  heels  close  together  and  ai-nis  extended. 

C.   W.   H. 


COMPLEX    INCIDENT.  29 


EXERCISE    VL 

COMPLEX   INCIDENT. 

Subjects  : 

Fido  and  the  Ralibits. 
The  "  Awkward  Squad  "  on  Parade. 
The  Triple  Play  That  AVon  the  Game. 
A  Complicated  Aifair. 


So  long  as  we  confine  ourselves  to  recounting  the 
actions  of  one  iDerson,  we  meet  with  few  difficulties. 
For  ordinarily  a  person  does  but  one  thing  at  a  time, 
and  to  give  a  faithful  account  of  his  actions  we  have 
only  to  relate  them  in  the  order  of  their  doing,  our 
chief  disadvantage  here  lying  in  the  fact  that  we  cannot 
always  relate  events  in  as  ra].)id  succession  as  they 
occur.  But  our  deeds  seldom  stand  alone.  Perhaps 
the  great  majority  of  our  acts  derive  their  interest  and 
their  significance  not  merely  from  their  relation  to 
what  has  jireceded  and  to  what  shall  follow,  but  also 
from  their  relation  to  something  else,  Avhether  distant 
or  close  at  hand,  that  is  going  on  at  the  satne  time. 
Human  life  is  a  wonderfully,  even  terribly,  intricate 
and  complex  affair.  So  here  the  writer  is  met  at  once 
by  an  insupeiuble  difficulty.  How  shall  li;e  carry  along 
together  these  diverse  occurrences?  While  one  man 
runs  up  the  railroad  track  signaling  wildly  and  another 
works  desperately  to  close  the  Ijroken  switch,  the  train 
comes  thundering  down  the  grade  witli  its  engineer 
vainly    endeavoring    to    operate    the  air-brake    and  its 


30  NARRATION. 

passengers  readiiig-  aiid  talkiiio-  unconcernedly  inside. 
Jlere  are  half  a  dozen  strands  twisted  into  a  sino-le 
string.  But  words  are  not  strands  and  cannot  be 
twisted  into  strings  ;  they  are  more  like  links,  and  can 
only  be  added,  one  at  a  time,  and  one  after  another,  to 
form  a  continuous  chain.  You  see  the  difficulty.  We 
talk  about  the  thread  of  a  narrative,  and  the  fiarure  is 
better  than  we  know.  For,  like  most  other  threads,  it 
usuall}^  consists  of  several  strands.  But  it  is  sini[)ly 
impossible  for  the  writer — the  fabricator  with  words  — 
to  carry  them  along  together.  His  material  foi-bids 
that.  He  can  only  take  up  one  strand  at  a  time,  carry 
it  as  far  as  he  deems  wise,  and  then  leave  it  hano-ino- 
there  while  he  goes  back  after  another.  That  is,  he 
can  only  show  us  first  a  portion  of  this  strand  and  then 
a  portion  of  that,  and  tell  us  that  they  ought  to  be  woven 
together,  leaving  it  to  our  imagination  to  carry  out  the 
process.  The  result  at  best  will  be  imperfect.  lUit 
that  should  not  discourage  ;  it  should  only  stimulate  to 
greater  effort.  Where  there  are  no  problems,  no 
difficulties,  there  is  no  incentive  to  work.  If  one  man 
were  to  attain  perfection,  no  man  thereafter  could  hope 
to  outdo  him. 

Relate  an  incident  from  life  in  which  there  were  two 
or  more  prominent  actors,  bearing  in  mind  the  difficul- 
ties pointed  out  above  and  overcoming  them  as  best  you 
can.  Notice  in  the  following  model  the  ingenious  inter- 
weaving of  the  actions  of  three  persons. 

With  that  I  tried  to  force  my  kinsman  toward  the  black  ;  Imt 
lie  felled  me  to  the  ground,  burst  from  my  grasp,  leaving  the 
shoulder  of  his  jacket,  and  fled  up  the  hillside  toward  the  top  of 
Aros  like  a  deer.    I  staggered  to  my  feet  again,  bruised  and  some- 


COMPLEX    INCIDENT,    REVISED.  31 

what  stunned  ;  the  negro  had  paused  in  surprise,  perhaps  in 
terror,  some  half-way  between  me  and  the  wreck  ;  my  uncle  was 
already  far  away,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock  ;  and  I  thus  found 
myself  torn  for  a  time  between  two  duties.  But  I  judged,  and  I 
pray  Heaven  that  I  judged  rightly,  in  favor  of  the  poor  wTetch 
npon  the  sands  ;  his  misfortune  was  at  least  not  plainly  of  his 
own  creation  ;  it  was  one,  besides,  that  I  could  certainly  relieve  ; 
and  I  had  begun  1>y  that  time  to  regard  my  uncle  as  an  incurable 
and  dismal  huiatic.  I  advanced  accordingly  toward  the  black, 
who  now  awaited  my  approach  w'ith  folded  arms,  like  one  prepared 
for  either  destiny.  As  I  came  nearer,  he  reached  forth  his  liand 
with  a  great  gesture,  such  as  I  had  seen  from  the  pulpit,  and  spoke 
to  me  in  sometliing  of  a  pulpit  voice,  l>ut  not  a  word  was  compre- 
hensible. I  tried  him  tirst  in  English,  tlien  in  Gaelic;  both  in 
vain  ;  so  that  it  was  clear  we  must  rely  upon  the  tongue  of  looks 
and  gestures.  Tliereupon  I  signed  to  him  to  follow  me,  which  he 
did  readily  and  witli  a  grave  obeisance  like  a  fallen  king  ;  all  the 
while  there  liad  come  no  shade  of  alteration  in  his  face,  neither  of 
anxiety  wliile  he  was  still  waiting,  nor  of  relief  now  that  he  was 
reassm-ed  ;  if  he  were  a  slave,  as  I  supposed,  I  could  not  but  judge 
he  must  have  fallen  from  some  high  place  in  his  own  country,  and 
fallen  as  he  was,  I  could  not  but  admire  his  bearing.  As  we 
passed  the  grave,  I  paused  and  raised  my  hands  and  eyes  to 
heaven  in  token  of  respect  and  sorrow  for  the  dead  ;  and  he,  as  if 
in  answer,  bowed  low  and  spread  his  liands  abroad  ;  it  was  a 
strange  motion,  but  done  like  a  thing  of  common  custom  ;  and  I 
suppose  it  was  ceremonial  in  the  land  from  which  he  came.  At 
the  same  time  he  pointed  to  my  uncle,  whom  we  could  just  see 
perched  upon  a  knoll,  and  touched  his  head  to  indicate  that  he 
was  mad.  —  From   The  Mern/  Men,  by  Kobert  Louis  Stevenson. 


EXERCISE    VII. 

COMPLEX   INCIDENT,    REVISED. 

We  used  an  illustration  in  the  last  exercise  and  the 
sentence  ran  thus  :    ''  While  one  man  runs  up  the  rail- 


32  NARRATION. 

road  track    signaling  wildly   and    another  works   des- 
perately to  close  the  broken  switch,   the  train  comes 
thundering   down  the  grade  with  its  engineer  vainly 
endeavoring  to  operate  the  air-brake,  and  its  passengers 
reading  and  talking  unconcernedly  inside."     Here  is 
an  attempt  to  present  four  or  five  simultaneous  actions. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  they  are  presented,  not  together, 
but  in  succession  —  the  only  way  possible  with  words. 
But  they  are  given  rapidly,  they  are  crowded  into  one 
sentence,  and  the  very  first  word  of  that  sentence  warns 
the  reader  that  the  action  is  complex  and  that  he  must 
hold  the   successive   portions   of  the   picture  in  mind 
until  the  whole  is  completed.     This  is  one  device  —  a 
conventional   way    of    overcoming    the    difficulty.      In 
narration  of  this  kind  we  are  compelled  to  use  a  great 
many  such  words  and  phrases  as  these  :    tvhile,  mearv- 
while,  in  the  meantime^  just  then,  simultaneously/,  a  moment 
before,  etc.     Participles  also  may  often  be  used  to  ad- 
vantage, but  you  will  need  to  handle  this  device  with 
great  care,  for  perhaps  in  the  use  of  no  other  one  form 
of  speech  is  the  young  writer  so  likely  to  betray  his 
inexpertness.     Avoid  such  expressions  as,  "  Let  us  now 
return  to  the  chief  actor  in  this  scene  ;  "    "  We  must 
now  ask  the  reader  to  imagine  himself,"   etc.     They 
are  too   formal  to  suit  tlie   taste   of  the  present  day. 
Every  transition  from  one  stage  of  the  action  to  another, 
whether  backward  or  forward,  should  be  made  with  the 
utmost  smoothness  and  naturalness.    Your  object  should 
be  always  to  carry  the  reader  with  you,  to  make  every- 
thing so  clear  tliat  he  cannot  possibl}^  fail  to  follow, 
but  at  the  same  time  to  do  this  so  skillfully  that  he 
will  scarcely  be  aware  of  the  transition. 


GAMES    OF    SKILL,    ETC.  33 

Examine  3'our  last  essay  carefiill}'  and  critically. 
Rewrite  it  and  see  if,  with  the  help  of  the  above  sug- 
gestions, you  cannot  ini[)r()ve  upon  it.  Form  the  habit 
of  criticising  your  own  work  dispassionately  and  un- 
sparingly. And  if  you  care  anything  for  literary  finish 
or  even  for  mere  accuracy,  form  the  habit  of  rewriting-, 
again  and  again  if  need  l>e.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk 
about  the  "•  first  ins})ired  utterances  of  a  full  mind." 
We  do  not  learn  to  write,  any  more  than  we  learn  to 
talk,  l)y  inspiration.  It  takes  long  and  laborious  prac- 
tice. We  find  our  encouragement  in  the  fact  that  in 
time  it  may  become  almost  as  much  a  mechanical  matter 
to  write  in  a  correct  and  })leasing  style  as  it  is  to  form 
tlie  A\Titten  characters  themselves. 


EXERCISE    VIII. 

GAMES   OF    SKILL,    ETC. 

A  little  consideration  will  show  that  we  are  gradually 
getting  beyond  the  domain  of  pure  narration.  A  Avar- 
correspondent  who,  from  some  commanding  height, 
watches  tlie  progress  of  a  ])attle  and  writes  up  an 
account  of  it  for  the  newspapers,  is  said  to  describe  the 
battle.  This  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  avc  use  the 
word  describe  somewhat  loosely  —  no  more  loosely  how- 
ever than  its  derivation  warrants  —  and  partly  to  the 
fact  that  there  is  here  a  real  distinction.  The  reporter 
writes,  not  merely  what  is  done,  l)ut  what  he  sees  done. 
He  strives  to  reproduce  for  olhei's  a  menial  picture  of 
what  he  has  actually  before  his  eyes.  And  the  action 
is  very  complex.     A   Iniiidred  things  are  going  on  at 


34  NARKATION. 

once,  so  that  in  a  certain  sense  they  occupy  space  as 
well  as  time.  An  officer  or  soldier  down  in  the  lines 
would  ])e  conscious  chiefly  of  a  succession  of  events. 
After  the  battle  he  could  narrate  his  experience,  l)ut  it 
would  be  a  very  different  account  from  that  of  the 
reporter  on  the  height.  Thus  it  comes  that  narration 
from  an  outside  point  of  view  is  frequently  termed 
description. 

Taking  this  outside  point  of  view  write  an  account 
of  some  game  you  have  witnessed  —  baseball,  football, 
lawn  tennis,  croquet,  anything  with  which  you  are 
familiar.  It  Avill  be  better,  if  you  have  an  opportunity, 
to  go  and  watch  a  game  with  this  ol)ject  in  view.  You 
can  then  make  note  of  the  most  interesting  points  and 
be  sure  too  of  making  an  accurate  report.  You  will 
of  course  need  to  understand  the  game  well,  and  to 
have  at  your  command  all  the  technical  terms  used  in 
it.  The  following  account  of  a  game  of  baseball  is 
taken  from  the  San  Francisco  Examiner,  May  19,  1892: 

WON   IN   ONE   INNING. 

CENTRAL    LEAGUE    TEAMS    PLAY    LIVELY    BALL    AT    OAKLAND. 

There  was  a  large  crowd  over  at  the  Oakland  grounds  yesterday- 
afternoon  at  the  Central  California  League  game  between  the 
Morans  of  Oakland  and  the  Havcrlys  of  San  Francisco. 

The  Oakland  team  started  off  with  a  rush,  getting  two  men 
around  the  paths.    But  here  their  share  of  the  run-getting  stopped. 

The  Haverlys  made  one  in  the  first  and  tlien  drew  blanks  until 
the  sixth,  when  they  tied  up  the  score.  In  the  seventh  they  com- 
menced hitting  the  ball  hai'd,  and  befoi'e  they  quit  five  earned 
runs  had  been  sent  over  the  rubber. 

The  playing  of  the  old-timers  was  lively  and  full  of  ginger. 
"  Pop  "  Swett  was  sick  and  his  place  was  filled  by  Stevens,  who 


GAMK8    OF    SKILL,    ETC.  35 

caught  Grant  in  good  shape.  Tlic  tall  sycamore  of  the  IMission 
pitched  like  a  man  driving  spikes  and  had  more  speed  than  a 
thoroughbred  colt,  retiring  eleven  men  on  strikes.  His  control 
was  almost  perfect,  not  a  man  going  down  the  path  on  a  walk 
except  "  Josh  "  Keilly,  who  caught  one  of  the  l)ig  pitcher's  in- 
shoots  in  the  side  and  is  sorry  for  it.  Grant  also  hit  hard  and 
fielded  his  position  finely.  Jack  Smitli,  old  pioneer  Jack,  liit 
hard  and  played  first  base  just  as  well  as  he  ever  did.  Fudger, 
the  man  who  once  pitched  for  Stockton,  made  his  reappearance 
after  having  been  reported  dead  in  half  a  dozen  different  sections 
of  the  country,  and  played  a  good  game  in  right  field. 

For  the  Morans  Nolan  pitched  good  ball.  Dunn  played  a 
superb  game  at  second  and  Stultz  handled  some  difiicult  chances 
at  short.  All  in  all  the  old-timers  made  it  extremely  pleasant 
and  interesting  for  the  spectators,  and  held  the  large  crowd  untU 
the  finish.     The  score  :  Ilaverlys,  7;  jNIorans,  2. 

Since  baseball  has  taken  sucli  a  firm  hold  on  the 
affections  of  the  American  people,  the  newspapers  daily 
-give  elaborate  accounts  of  the  most  important  games. 
Naturally  reporters  vie  with  one  another  in  their  en- 
deavors to  make  these  accounts  lively  and  interesting. 
Where  the  same  kind  of  subject  is  treated  day  after 
day,  variety  in  style  and  language  nnist  above  all  be 
sought  for.  The  result  is  that,  in  addition  to  the 
regular  technical  terms  of  the  game,  new  ones  have 
been  invented  by  the  score  and  will  continue  to  be 
invented.  Fantastic  turns  of  expression,  local  allu- 
sions, ridiculous  figures  and  tropes,  and  slang,  are  all 
employed  freely.  Popular  taste  alone  —  not  always 
the  best  by  any  means  —  is  consulted  and  catered  to. 
But  in  our  work  we  shall  avoid  these  extravagances, 
since  our  chief  objects  just  now  are  clearness  of  thought 
and  purity  of  language,  though  of  course  novelty  and 
originality  of  expression  are  always  to  be  encouraged. 


36  NAltKATloN. 

EXEIUMSK    IX. 

PHYSICAL    CONTESTS. 

Ill  the  last  exercise  we  (lealt  witli  a  class  of  games  to 
write  au  aeeonnt  of  which  required  a  certain  iiitiinate 
and  technical  knowledf^^e.  The  wa-itten  accounts  too 
were  intended  only  I'or  those  who  possess  a  similar 
knowledge.  The  average  newspaper  report  of  a  hall 
game  is  the  merest  jargon  to  an  uninitiated  reader.  To 
"write  up"  these  games  in  a  w^ay  that  shall  he  inter- 
esting to  the  general  reader  is  indeed  a  difficult  task, 
for  after  all  details  are  eliminated  and  all  technicalities 
suppressed,  little  remains.  There  is,  however,  a  class  of 
contests,  less  complex  in  their  regulations  and  issues, 
which  admit  of  heing  described  in  general  terms  and 
which  appeal  to  the  understanding  and  interest  of  all 
alike.  Sucli  are  almost  all  simple  trials  of  strength, 
endurance,  speed,  or  agility.  Everyone  is  interested  in 
the  description  of  the  chariot  race  in  Ben  Hur,  though 
few  have  witnessed  such  a  contest.  A  foot  race,  horse 
race,  boat  race,  or  any  one  of  the  contests  of  an  athletic 
club's  field  day,  will  furnish  good  material  for  work  of 
this  kind. 

MIODKL. 

Ivouis  Doiicet  and  Captain  Cortes,  met  face  to  face  and  crossed 
swords  near  the  middle  of  the  little  street.  The  Spaniard  knew 
his  man.  Pauline's  cry  of  recognition  a  while  ago  had  told 
him  who  was  the  swift-footed  and  handsome  young  leader  of  the 
French  detachment.  As  for  Doucet  he  knew  nothing  more  than 
that  an  enemy  worthy  of  his  steel  was  before  him.  A  voice  that 
he  had  heard  a  few  moments  before  had  seemed  to  him  to  utter 
his  name  with  a  sweet  tenderness  that  recalled  in  some  strange 
way  the  homesickness  of  his  first  year  of  absence  from  France. 


PHYSICAL    CONTESTS.  37 

It  was  no  time  for  gentle  reflections  now  ;  the  voice  could  not 
really  have  called  him,  he  thought,  and  the  mere  flash  of  uostalgie 
passed  as  quickly  as  it  came.  His  sword  rang  sharp  and  clear  oil 
that  of  Cortes.  The  two  men  glared  at  eacli  other,  the  concen- 
trated hatred  of  years  of  war  luirning  in  their  faces. 

They  were  well  matched  in  every  way.  Cortes  was  a  trifle  tlie 
taller,  but  Doucet  appeared  rather  more  compactly  built  than  his 
adversary.  Both  were  sufficiently  lieated  by  tlieir  previous  exertion 
to  make  their  blood  swift  and  their  muscles  ready. 

No  time  was  lost ;  the  fight  was  desperate  from  the  beginning, 
neither  combatant  at  first  thinking  of  anything  but  rushing  upon 
and  bearing  down  the  other.  Both,  however,  discovered  very  soon 
that  it  was  necessary  to  have  a  care  for  self-defence  as  well  as  for 
attack.  They  fenced  furiously  and  adroitly,  neither  giving  an 
inch,  utterly  forgetful  of  what  was  going  on  around  tliem,  their 
whole  souls  focused,  so  to  speak,  in  the  one  desire  to  kill,  and,  by 
killing,  to  live. 

Cortes  was  aware  that  Pauline  was  near  by  and  probably  look- 
ing on.  The  thought  in  some  way  nerved  him  powerfully.  She 
should  not  see  Louis  Doucet  vanquish  him  ;  he  would  show  her 
that  a  Sjianiard  for  once  was  superior  to  a  Frenchman. 

Doucet  had  no  such  extra  stimulus,  but  his  was  an  iron  frame 
and  his  courage  and  coolness  needed  no  aid  when  a  Spaniard  dared 
cross  weapons  with  him.  With  the  dexterity  drawn  from  long 
practice,  and  with  the  fierce  fury  of  young  tigers  thirsting  for 
each  other's  blood,  they  struggled  back  and  forth  and  round  and 
round,  while  their  companions,  fighting  quite  as  madly,  swept  on 
down  the  street  leaving  them  to  occupy  the  already  corpse- 
cumljcred  and  blood-stained  ground.  In  those  days  soldiers  of  the 
better  class  knew  the  use  of  the  sword  and  were  over-proud  of  the 
knowledge.  Under  the  excitement  and  exhilaration  of  a  hand-to- 
hand  combat  the  accomplished  swordsman  always  feels  that  his 
strength  is  doubled  ;  but  the  peculiar  circumstances  attending  the 
struggle  between  Cortes  and  Doucet  added  imineasural)ly  to  this 
feeling. 

Each  found  the  other  an  antagonist  whoso  vigor  and  swiftness 
made  every  moment  a  crisis  and  whose  steadfast  gaze  caught  in 
advance  every  motion  of  wrist  or  body. 


38  XAi;  RATION. 

IJotli  iiicu  ln'i'iuiK'  aware  picisciitly  (liuL  tliu  cauiioiiadiii^  liad 
ceased  and  that  the  rattle  of  inuskotry  was  no  longer  lieard.  A 
t;real  calm  had  fallen  after  Uic  storm  —  the  liatfle  was  over  and 
the  Spanish,  to  (he  mimher  of  ei^■llteell  hundred,  had  surrendered 
tliemselves  i>risoners  of  war. 

One  Sjianiaixl,  however,  was  not  yet  conquered  ;  one  FnMichman 

was  still  battling  for  victory From  In  Lore's  i/a/zr/.s,  by  Maurice 

I'liompson. 

For  additional  cvainjdcs  read  the  fcillowiiio-  : 

Tlie  Cliariot  Race.     BenHnr;   book   v,  chapter  xiv.  —  Gen.  L(!w 

Wallace. 
The   Tournament   of   Princt^   John.      FranJioe ;   chapter  vii.  —  Sir 

AValter  Scott. 
The  Boat  Race.      7'oin  Jiro/m  at  O.rjhrd ;  ciiapter  xiii.  —  Tliomas 

Hughes. 
Chi'istian's    Figlit   with    Apollyon.      I'ilt/riin's    /'ri></nss ;    fourth 

Stage. — John  Bunyan. 
The  Duel.     IVie  Two  Coptaitis ;  chapter  xviii.  —  I>aron  de  la  IMotte 

Fouque. 


The  example  here  given  and  those  referred  to,  dealing 
as  they  do  with  events  so  far  removed  from  ordinary 
experience,  will  do  little  more  tlian  ludp  one  catch  the 
spirit  of  this  kind  of  work.  But  if  they  do  that  much 
it  will  be  an  ample  return  for  the  time  spent  in  reading 
them.  Of  course  a  simple  incident  attracting  only  a 
mild  interest  will  have  to  be  treated  with  befitting-  sim- 
plicity.  Any  attempt  to  attach  to  it,  by  an  inflated 
style  of  writing,  an  importance  it  does  not  possess,  is 
cei'tain  to  result  in  failure. 


OUTLINE   AUTOBlOGEArHY,  39 


EXERCISE    X. 

INTELLECTUAL    CONTESTS. 

Give  an  aceoimt  now  of  a  contest  of  a  somewhat 
different  kind  —  one  involving  the  exhibition,  not  of 
physical  prowess,  bnt  rather  of  intellectual  ability 
and  attainments.  Perhaps  spelling  and  pronouncing 
matches,  being  of  common  occurrence,  will  most  readily 
suggest  themselves.  Joint  meetings  of  literary  societies, 
debates,  suits  and  trials  at  law,  and  contests  in  decla- 
mation and  oratory,  if  you  have  an  opportunity  of 
hearing  them,  will  afford  yet  wider  scojie  for  an  exercise 
of  this  nature.  Read  The  Debate  in  Will  Carleton's 
Farm  Festivals. 

EXERCISE    XL       . 

OUTLINE    AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

The  length  of  the  composition  to  l)e  written  must  be 
determined  by  various  considerations,  chiefly  b}^  the 
subject  itself  and  the  Avriter's  knowledge  of  it.  In 
general,  write  all  that  seems  worthy  of  being  said  upon 
the  subject,  neither  more  nor  less.  It  is  sometimes  neces- 
sary for  a  writer,  as  in  the  jjreparation  of  lectures, 
magazine  articles,  and  newspa})er  reports,  to  fix  his 
limits  exactly  beforehand.  But  that  can  be  done  suc- 
cessfully only  when  by  long  training  one  has  obtained 
perfect  control  over  his  pen.  In  order  therefore  to 
obtain  this  control  it  may  be  well  occasionally  to  practice 
writing  compositions  of  a  definite  lengtli.  In  every 
case  the  qualities  to  be  sought  for  are  unity,  synnnetry. 


40  NAliUATlON. 

compiictness,  and  coiiiplctcm'ss.  Mere  kniij^tli  is  in  itself 
no  indication  whatever  of  merit,  nor  even  of  the  amount 
of  time  or  labor  spent  on  the  work.  A  student  once 
presented  an  essay  of  only  four  sentences,  which  in  all 
the  qualities  above  named  was  excelled  l)y  no  one  of  a 
hundivd  other  essays  presented  at  the  same  time.  It 
possessed  in  a  rare  degree  that  almost  indeiinable  virtue, 
literary  finish.  When  you  read  it  you  felt  that  every- 
thing had  been  said  and  had  been  said  in  the  best  possible 
manner.  One  word  more  or  one  word  less  would  have 
spoiled  it. 

Naturally  one  whose  aim  is  excellence  only  does  not 
want  to  be  hampered  by  any  conditions  in  the  matter 
of  length.  It  is  possible  to  expand  or  condense  a 
written  article  within  certain  limits  without  serious 
harm  ;  but  the  limits  are  very  narrow.  Of  the  two 
processes  expansion  is  the  more  hazardous.  Indeed,  so 
far  as  mere  use  of  words  goes,  writers  of  every  grade 
err  ten  times  on  the  side  of  excess  to  once  on  the  side 
of  deficiency.  So  true  is  this  that  we  have  several 
familiar  names  by  which  to  characterize  different  forms 
of  the  first  vice  —  inflation,  circumlocution,  redundance, 
tautology,  prolixity,  diffuseness  —  but  scarcely  one  for 
the  second  —  rhetorical  ellipsis.  Condensation,  "boiling 
down,"  is  therefore  recommended  to  young  writers  as  a 
valuable  practice.  So  long  as  the  process  is  applied  to 
the  diction  or  wording  of  any  thought  there  can  be 
little  question  of  its  value.  A  review  of  what  we  have 
written  will  almost  always  show  to  us  some  expressions 
that  add  too  little  to  warrant  their  retention,  and  some 
that  are  mere  repetitions  and  add  nothing  at  all.  And 
sometimes   the  thought  itself  may  be   pruned  to  ad- 


DETAILED    AUTOBIOGllAPHY.  41 

vantage.  On  the  other  hand,  if  expansion  is  necessary, 
it  must  always  be  effected  by  the  addition  of  thought, 
of  subject-matter,  not  by  juggling  with  words. 

Write  a  brief  history  of  your  life.  There  are  a  few 
facts  that  are  necessary  to  every  work  of  this  kind,  no 
matter  how  brief  or  incomplete  it  may  be.  In  addition 
to  these,  relate  the  most  important  events  and  especially 
those  events  which,  whether  they  appeared  important 
or  not  at  the  time  of  their  occurrence,  p-ained  siii'iiili- 
cance  by  their  effect  upon  your  subsequent  life.  Such 
an  essay  is  not  likely  to  have  complete  unity,  since  it 
will  be  made  up  largely  of  diverse  and  unrelated  ex- 
periences—  experiences  that  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a 
single  individual,  it  is  true,  but  quite  as  often  by 
chance  as  l)y  design.  Still  a  certain  unit}^  will  Ijc 
secured  if  you  continually  bear  in  mind  tliat  all  these 
experiences  have  contributed  to  make  you  what  you 
now  are. 

The  opening  chapter  of  Rohinmn  Crusoe  furnishes  an 
excellent  example  of  such  a  sketch  of  one's  early  life. 
Observe  how  it  gives,  in  addition  to  those  facts  which 
are  })atent  to  every  one,  considcraljle  insight  into  young 
Robinson's  character  and  proclivities,  which  is  not  oidy 
interesting  but  really  essential.  Read  also  The  Author  s 
Account  of  Hhnself,  in  Washington  Irving's  Sketclt-Book. 


EXERCISE    XII. 

J  DETAILED   AUTUliKXiKAi'lI  Y. 

Instead  of  trying  to  cover  your  wlioh'  life-history, 
take  a  small  ])orlion  of  it  ordy  and  tn-at  it  more  in   dc- 


42  NARRATION. 

tail,  as  if  you  were  writiiio-  a  chapter  of  a  complete 
foiinal  autobiograpliy.  Yon  will  thus  Lave  time  and 
space  to  make  note  of  minuter  incidents,  to  in(^uire,  if 
you  choose,  into  the  motives  of  actions,  to  indicate 
personal  tastes  and  follow  the  development  of  particular 
traits  of  character.  Perhaps  some  of  this  could  be 
better  done  by  anotlier  than  by  yourself,  still  there  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  not  attempt  it.  Try  to  be  fair 
to  yourself,  erring  if  at  all  on  the  side  of  modesty.  So 
far  as  may  be,  let  motives  shine  through  your  actions 
rather  than  rest  on  your  bare  assertion.  You  will  be 
more  likely  thus  to  win  the  reader's  conlidence  and 
impress  him  with  your  sincerity. 

The  familiar  Autobiographies  of  Benjamin  Franklin, 
John  B.  Gough,  Joseph  Jefferson,  etc.,  may  be  referred 
to  as  models. 


EXERCISE    XIII. 

II\I AGINARY   AUTOBlOGRAniY. 

There  is  a  subject  that  has  long  been  a  favorite  with 
young  composition-writers  —  "  The  Autobiography  of 
a  Cent."  It  is  an  easy  subject  for  several  reasons. 
Being  largely  if  not  entirely  fictitious  it  does  not  re- 
quire any  preliminary  investigation  into  facts.  It 
affords  am})le  scope  for  the  imagination,  and  yet  in  a 
wholly  familiar  field  —  everyday  life.  The  use  of  the 
first  person  too  instead  of  the  third,  seems  to  lead  to 
the  most  natural  and  easy  style  of  writing.  If  the  title 
were  changed  to  "-The  History  of  a  Cent,"  and  the 
third  person  used,  the  narrative  would  be  likely  t*{  lose, 


IMAGINARY    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  43 

not   only   in   sini[)lieity,  Iml  also  in  liveliness  and   in- 
terest. 

Select  sncli  an  "autolnography "  and  Avi-ite  it  in 
your  best  imaginative  style.  By  InuKji native  is  not 
meant  anything  strained  or  artificial.  On  tlie  contrary, 
the  best  imaginative  writer  in  this  case  will  be  he  who 
best  succeeds  in  identifying  himself  with  the  object  in 
question.  Imagine  yourself  to  l)e  that  object,  as  viv- 
idly as  you  can,  and  then,  with  all  the  feeling  and 
naturalness  possible  to  you,  tell  your  story. 

Of  course  many  things  may  be  substituted  for  the 
word  cent  in  the  above  title — pin,  ribbon,  pen-knife, 
horse-shoe,  postage-stamp.  A  description  of  the  manu- 
facture of  these  articles  will  not  properly  enter  into  a 
narration  ;  rather  dwell  upon  the  wanderings  of  the 
object,  the  various  uses  it  has  subserved,  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  fortune  it  has  witnessed  and  suffered  —  in 
short,  all  its  experiences  and  observations  in  the  world 
of  men  and  things.  One  of  the  most  successful  essays  of 
this  nature  that  has  come  under  the  writer's  observation 
was  entitled  "A  Voice  from  the  Belfry."  The  school- 
bell  did  all  tlie  talking,  and  the  school-bell  you  must 
admit  is  in  an  admirable  position  to  observe  certain 
interesting  phases  of  liuman  life. 

Tliere  is  no  need  to  coniine  yourself  to  inanimate 
objects.  The  autobiography  of  a  squirrel  or  a  dog  or 
horse  may  be  made  perhaps  more  interesting  than  any 
of  the  above.  Somewliat  in  this  style  is  a,  well  written 
plea  for  the  horse,  entitled  Bhtck  Beaut//,  l)y  Anna 
Sewell.  If  you  ])i'efer,  instead  of  writing  a  conqiosi- 
tion  of  yoiir  own,  take  ji  BelVs  Bioiiraphy,  in  Haw- 
thorne's ^noiv  Image,  and  Other  Twire    Told   Tales,  and 


44  NABUATION. 

rewrite   it    in   tlu>   form   of  nii   imtol)i()gra})hy  with   tlu> 
lu'll  as  speaker. 

EXERCISE    XTV. 

IJlOGRArilY. 

r)ioL;'ra[)liy   is  a    proxiiicc   of    Icth-rs   to    wliicii   iiiauy 
authors  of  talent  in  all  aj^cs   have  devoted  themselves. 
It   differs   from   autol)iog-ra})hy    in    that   it   is    the   life- 
history    of    one   man    written    hy    another.      Plutarclis 
Lives    have    exerted    an    incalculahle    inflnenee    over 
many  generations  of  enthusiastic  youth  and  arc  read 
still  with  scarcely  diminished  interest.      The  Memoira  of 
old  Frencli  writers  and  their  imitators  are  filled  with 
hiographical  material.     From  England  we  have,  to  men- 
tion only  one  striking  example  out  of   hundreds,   Bos- 
well's  monumental  Life  of  Johnson.     And   tlie  Amci- 
ican  press   of  the   present  day   has  given   us   a   large 
number  of  brief  biographies  of  varying  degrees  of  ex- 
cellence   in    the    "Statesmen"    series    and    "Men    of 
Letters  "  series.     Short  sketches  may  be  found  in  any 
Encyclopedia  or  Biographical  Dictionary.     Perhaps  the 
most   helpful  exami)les  will  be  found  in  Hawthorne's 
Biofiraphical   Stories^   a   collection    of   six  short  biogra- 
phies of  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  Queen  C-hristina,  etc.     Anec- 
dotes are  liberally  interspersed   to  make  tin;  narrative 
as  lively  as  possible. 

To  write  such  works  as  the  most  of  those  mentioned 
al)ove  requires  time,  talent,  earnestness,  and  a  full  and 
definite  knowledge  of  facts.  Ij^evertheless  such  wi'it- 
ing  may  with  advantage  be  praticed  on  a  small  scale. 
After  learning  all  the  facts  you  can,  write  a  short  biog- 
raph}'  of  one  of  your  relatives  or  friends. 


HISTORY.  4 


EXERCISE    XV. 


r^ 


HISTORY. 

To  tlie  liistoiian  falls  the  necessity  of  practicing  tlie 
art  of  narration  in  all  its  branches  and  in  its  utmost 
complexity.  He  should  have  a  lively  imagination,  a 
quick  })erception,  a  keen  sympathy,  and  a  calm,  un- 
erring judgment.  He  should  l)e  tlie  ideal  spectator  of 
human  activity,  able  to  look  u[)on  the  life  of  an  indi- 
vidual as  a  mere  incident  in  the  life  of  a  society  or 
nation,  and  tlie  life  of  a  society  or  nation  as  a  mere 
incident  in  tlie  progress  of  the  world.  He  may  be 
likened  to  the  re})orter  on  the  heiglit  watching  the 
battle  and  sifting,  judging,  recording.  From  the  height 
of  the  present  he  looks  calmly  dcnvn  over  the  })anorama 
of  the  })ast ;  or  from  the  height  of  im]^)artiality  he  sur- 
veys and  clu-onicles  tlie  events  of  the  present.  He  must 
see  and  distinguish  clearly  all  the  multicolored  threads 
of  the  tangled  skein  and  —  not  unravel  them,  for  above 
all  else  must  he  picture  to  us  tilings  as  they  are  ;  but 
lie  must  be  able  to  lay  his  finger  at  one  point  and  say, 
"•  Here  the  thread  enters  the  tangle,"  and  lay  it  at 
another  point  and  say,  "  Here  it  emerges  again."  But 
the  ends  of  the  thread  no  man  sees. 

Still  much  of  the  historian's  work  requires  no  more 
skill  than  may  be  obtained  in  the  practice  of  ordinary 
narration.  He  gathers  his  facts  fi'om  every  accessible 
source  and  then  selects,  arranges,  and  classifies  them 
according  to  whatever  seems  to  him  th(!  luist  jninciple. 
It  will  be  easy  enough  for  you  to  get  an  insight  into 
this  process  and  at  the  same  time  gain  a  little  practical 


4G  NARRATION. 

experience.  Read  in  two  or  tin-ee  histories  of  the 
United  States  the  acLoant  ot  some  particular  event,  as 
llie  Landinc^  of  the  Pilgrims,  the  Signing  of  tlie  Declar- 
ation of  Independence,  the  Battle  of  Lookout  Moun- 
tain; then,  from  your  memory  and  with  only  such 
recurrenc(^  to  the  sources  of  information  as  may  be 
necessary  to  assist  your  memory  and  verify  facts,  write 
an  independent  account  of  the  same  event.  Let  the 
language,  and  indeed  everything  except  the  bare,  in- 
disputal)le  facts,  be  as  far  as  possible  your  own. 

Or  perhaps  3'ou  can  get  not  unworthy  material  near 
at  hand.  "•  Our  Class  Election,"  "  The  Late  Rebellion 
in  the  Third  Ward  School,"  "The  Diplomacy  of 
Briggs,  Arbitrator,"  are  suggestive  subjects  of  this 
kind.  Treated  witli  all  the  dignity  of  actual  history 
they  can  be  made  extremel}'  interesting  and  effective. 


8E(  TION   TT.  —  1)E8C  IIIPTION. 


EXERCISE  XVI. 

jMANrTFACTURED  ARTICLES. 

Si/fi/c'fs  : 

A  RevolviiiL;-  Book-case.  A  Hanging  Lamp. 

An  Ornamental  AVaste-basket.  My  Mineral  Cabinet. 

The  School  Benches  of  Our  Grand-  Novel  Card  Receiver. 

father's  Time  Compared  with  Annt's  Cuckoo  Clock. 

Those  of  Our  Own.  A  Postage  Stamp  Album. 
An  Ideal  Office  Desk. 


We  enter  here  upon  work  of  a  very  different  nature 
from  that  which  we  luive  l)een  doing.  We  must  deal 
now  with  objects  as  they  exist  in  space  and  present 
tliemselves,  complete  and  unchanging,  to  our  senses. 
It  may  seem  at  first  a  very  simple  matter  to  represent 
in  language  an  ol)ject  which  is  presented  to  us  tlius 
unchanging  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time.  But 
there  are  many  difficulties,  some  of  which  have  already 
been  hinted  at.  Our  vocabulaiy  with  its  wonderful 
wealth  of  resources  can  serve  only  very  imperfectly  for 
the  portrayal  of  the  infinite  variety  of  o])jects  Avith 
which  we  are  surrounded,  and  so  tlie  writer  is  largely 
dependent  on  the  knowledge  and  imagination  of  the 
reader.  Consider  this,  too  :  All  tlie  colors  of  the  rain- 
})ow  strike  tlie  eye  at  the  same  moment;    tlu;  several 


48  DESCllIPTION. 

notes  of  a  chord  combine  for  the  ear  into  one  mnsical 
sonnd  ;  the  roundness,  smoothness,  and  softness  of  a 
rubber  ball  give  to  the  touch  an  instantaneous  pleasure- 
able  sensation.  But  lanoruagc  must  l)e  content  to  })re- 
sent  the  separate  elements  of  these  complex  impressions 
one  at  a  time.  Tf  incmory  did  not  come  to  the  reader's 
assistance  and  hold  lor  him  the  separate  elements  until 
he  has  received  them  all,  he  could  never  get  a  complete 
picture  through  the  medium  of  words.  Language  is 
evidently,  from  its  very  nature,  far  better  adapted  to 
narrating  events  which  occur  in  succession  than  to 
describing  objects  all  of  whose  parts  have  a  contem- 
poraneous existence.  Other  dil'liculties  will  come  to 
notice  as  we  proceed.  We  shall  simply  have  to  rely 
on  our  ingenuity  to  devise  ways  of  lessening  or  over- 
coming them.  It  is  dif'iiculties  to  be  overcome  as  well 
as  effects  to  be  sought  that  make  of  composition  an  art 
in  itself  with  a  full  l)ody  of  ])rineiples  —  lawji  ^md 
licenses  and  limitations. 

As  an  example  of  sim})le  description  take  the  follow- 
ing from  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  : 

GRANDFATHER'S   CHAIR. 

The  cliair  in  which  Graiulfatlier  sat  was  made  of  oak,  wliich 
had  grown  dark  witli  age,  but  liad  been  rubbed  and  polished 
till  it  shone  as  bright  as  mahogany.  It  was  very  large  and  heavy 
and  liad  a  back  that  rose  high  above  Grandfather's  white  head. 
"This  back  was  curiously  cai'ved  in  open  work,  so  as  to  represent 
flowers,  and  foliage,  and  other  devices,  which  the  children  had 
often  gazed  at,  but  could  never  luiderstand  what  they  meant. 
On  the  very  tip-top  of  the  cliair,  over  the  head  of  Grandfather 
himself,  was  a  likeness  of  a  lion's  head,  which  had  such  a  savage 
gi'in  that  yon  would  almost  expect  to  hear  it  growl  and  snarl. 

The  children  had  seen  Grandfather  sitting  in  this  chair  ever 


JVIECHANICAL    CONTRIVANCES,    ETC.  49 

since  they  could  remember  anything.  Perhaps  the  younger  of 
them  supposed  that  he  and  the  chair  had  come  into  the  world 
together,  and  that  both  had  alwaj^s  been  as  old  as  they  were  now. 
At  this  time,  however,  it  happened  to  be  the  fashion  for  ladies  to 
adorn  their  drawing-rooms  with  the  oldest  and  oddest  ciiairs  that 
could  be  found.  It  seemed  to  cousin  Clara  that,  if  these  ladies 
could  have  seen  Grandfather's  old  chair,  they  would  have  thought 
it  worth  all  the  rest  together.  Slie  wondered  if  it  were  not  even 
older  than  Grandfather  himself,  and  longed  to  know  all  about  its 
history. 

Ill  the  above  selection  the  first  paragraph  is  }>urely 
descriptive  ;  the  second  is  only  indirectly  so,  being  a 
fanciful  way  of  dwelling  upon  the  age  and  antique 
appearance  of  the  chair. 


EXERCISE    XVII. 

MECHANICAL    CONTRIVANCES,    SCIENTIFIC    INSTRU- 
MENTS,   ETC. 

In  the  last  exercise  we  handled  description  in  a  very 
general  way.  There  was  no  attempt  to  make  it  ex- 
haustive. Striking  features  alone  were  selected,  and 
those  perhaps  from  only  one,  external  point  of  view. 
Here  the  problem  is  somewhat  different.  Have  the 
ol)ject  before  you,  then  try  to  make  your  description  of 
it  so  accurate  and  complete  that  any  one  may  get  a  rea- 
sonably clear  conception  of  it,  even  though  he  has 
never  seen  it.  This  will  necessitate  finding  distinctive 
names  for  the  various  portions  of  the  object.  Such 
names  do  not  always  exist  ;  or  if  they  do,  unless  we 
happen  to  l)e  veiy  well  acquainted  witli  the  object  and 
its  use,  they  do  not  readily  suggest  themselves  to  us. 
Notice  what  frtiipient  use  an  awkwaid  dcscriber  makes 


50  DESCRIPTION. 

of  the  words  thing^  piee(\  affair^  contrivance.,  etc., — 
words  that  luive  no  specific  meaning  and  scarcely  help 
the  description  along  at  all,  since  their  valne  for  con- 
veying dctinitc  ideas  is  \ii'tnally  ^ill.  Notice  too  liow 
sucli  a  (k'scriljur,  if  hi;  is  talking,  makes  nse  of  any 
article  that  may  he  at  hand  to  illustrate  his  mciining. 
If  he  is  at  the  dinner  table,  knife  and  fork,  cnp  and 
saucer,  salt-cellai'  and  tooth-picks,  will  all  he  pressed 
into  service  to  make  up  for  the  deficiencies  of  language. 

Indeed  in  description  of  the  kind  here  contemplated, 
a  knowledge  of  technical  terms  is  almost  indispensable. 
For  instance,  if  yon  have  to  describe  an  air-pump,  it 
will  simplify  the  matter  very  much  if  you  can  use, 
without  further  explanation,  such  terms  as  eyHnder^ 
piston.,  valve.  To  describe  one  of  the  more  complex 
kinds  of  steam  engines  or  electrical  dynamos,  requires 
great  familiarity  with  the  terminology  of  mechanics. 
But  whatever  your  own  knowledge  may  be,  you  will 
still  have  to  take  into  consideration  the  ability  of  your 
readers  or  hearers  to  understand.  If  they  have  not 
your  acquaintance  with  these  technical  terms,  then 
both  they  and  you  must  be  content  with  such  imperfect 
conceptions  as  are  to  be  derived  from  general  terms 
which  are  more  widely  intelligible  though  necessarily 
less  exact.  Even  when  both  writer  and  reader  have  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  exact  terms,  and  description 
reaches  its  highest  perfection,  still  drawings  and  photo- 
graphs are  almost  indispensable  adjuncts.  Witness  any 
book  or  magazine  devoted  to  the  special  sciences. 

There  are  certain  terms,  once  considered  technical 
perhaps,  which  to-day  should  constitute  a  part  of  every- 
one's vocabulary,  whether  he  be  specially  educated  or 


BUILDINGS,    TOWNS,    ETC.  61 

not.  Lever,  cog,  pivot,  lens,  may  be  instanced.  Famil- 
iarize yourself  with  such  as  early  as  possible  ;  it  will 
make  you  a  more  intelligent  listener  and  reader  and  a 
more  intelligible  talker  and  writer  in  every  department 
of  modern  life. 

The  following  are  suggested  as  good  objects  to  be 
described  :  A  Needle  Threader,  Carpet  Stretcher,  Scroll 
Saw,  Bicycle,  Violin,  Steam  Engine,  Air  Pump,  Re- 
fracting Telescope,  Compound  Microscope.  Many 
others  will  readily  occur  to  you. 


EXERCISE    XVIII. 

BUILDINGS,    TOWNS,    ETC. 

Subjects  : 

My  Home.  Tlie  Woolen  Mills. 

Grandfather's  Ranch.  The  Whaleback  Steamer. 

]\Iy  Birthplace.  The  Garden  City. 

The  Old  Schoolhouse.  A  New  England  Hamlet. 
The  City  Waterworks  System. 


We  must  recognize  two  fundamentally  different 
classes  of  descriptive  writing.  Roughly  speaking  we 
may  call  the  one  Scientific,  the  other  Literary.  The 
first  aims  to  give  an  exact  picture  of  things  as  they  are, 
the  second  aims  to  give  a  good  picture  of  things  as 
they  appear  to  be.  The  object  of  the  first  is  to  explain 
and  inform,  the  object  of  the  second  is  to  interest  and 
please.  The  first  may  be  compared  to  a  pliotograph, 
the  second  to  a  more  or  less  idealized  painting. 


52  DESCKII'TION. 

Ill  Exercise  XVI.  the  deseriptions  were  not  limited 
to  either  kind,  thougli  they  would  probably  be  rather 
of  the  former  than  of  the  latter.  Natiirall}^  many  de- 
scriptions will  partake  of  the  characteristics  of  l)otli 
classes.  In  Exercise  XVII.  they  were  strictly  of  the 
scientific  class.  In  the  present  exercise  again  they  will 
iiol  ])c  limited  to  either  class,  though  they  will  lean 
toward  the  literary. 

Much  depends  on  the  subject  selected,  if  you_clioose 
a  factory  or  a  new  schoolhouse,  you  can  do  little  more 
than  give  a  detailed  description  of  the  building.  The 
subject  lends  itself  only  to  the  plainest  kind  of  treat- 
ment. An  architect  could  give  a  strictly  "  scientific  " 
description  ;  one  Avithout  his  knowledge  and  experience 
would  have  to  be  content  with  something  less  exact. 
On  the  other  hand,  if  you  choose  to  describe  your  home 
or  the  old  schoolhouse  in  which  you  have  spent  many 
years,  a  thousand  memories  and  associations  will  con- 
spire to  brighten  u[)  the  sombre  tints  and  soften  the 
harsh  lines  and  lend  beauty  and  grace  to  the  homeliest 
features.  You  can  hardly  keep  your  personality  from 
entering  into  and  idealizing  such  a  description.  Nor 
will  you  be  expected  to  do  so.  This  is  one  of  the 
characteristics  of  our  best  genuine  literature.  It  is  not 
meant  that  you  shall  be  inaccurate  or  untruthful,  only 
that  you  shall  not  be  over-curious  for  accuracy,  and  in 
particular  that  you  shall  not  strive,  to  the  exclusion  of 
better  things,  for  absolute  completeness  of  detail. 

The  descriptions  may  well  be  made  from  memoiy, 
without  having  the  object  before  you.  Read  as  an  ex- 
ample Hawthorne's  description  of  The  Old  Manse.  In 
the   following   model,   though   the   language   and  con- 


PEOCESSES    OF    MANUFACTURE.  53 

struction  are  not  always  the  best  tliat  might  be  chosen, 
the  expression  is  sincere  and  the  feeling  that  inspired 
it  was  evidently  genuine. 

A   CABIN. 

All  day  we  followed  a  dark  windino-  path  which  leads  into  the 
interior  of  AVahkiakuni  County,  Washington,  with '  scarcely  a 
gleam  of  snnliglit.  At  last,  while  descending  one  side  of  a 
gulch,  there  opened  to  us  a  striking  scene. 

In  the  woods  below  us  was  a  clearing,  surrounded  by  a  wall  of 
dense  evergreens.  At  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  trickled  a  stream 
of  sweet  mountain  water.  In  the  opening  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  stream  was  a  bed  of  grass.  Here  and  there  were  old  moss- 
covered  logs  and  brush  piles. 

Then,  as  our  eyes  followed  the  path  which  led  up  tlie  opposite 
bank,  we  caught  sight  of  a  small  cabin  which  seemed  to  be  stand- 
ing out  fi'om  the  side  of  the  hill.  It  was  made  of  boards  which 
■  had  been  manufactured  without  a  sawmill,  and  the  eaves  came  to 
to  the  gi-ound  so  that  it  looked  like  a  potato  house.  Above  it 
towered  some  gigantic  firs  which  with  swaying  branches  threat- 
ened to  fall  on  the  little  cabin  and  bury  it. 

As  we  approached  we  saw  that  the  cabin  had  been  recently 
deserted,  and  we  inferred  from  the  axes  and  saws  which  were 
scattered  here  and  there  that  the  desertion  had  been  a  hasty  one. 
The  loneliness  told  the  story.  Perhaps  the  rancher  came  into  the 
woods  to  seek  a  fortune  and  went  out  to  seek  a  wife. 


EXERCISE    XIX. 

TROCESSES  OF  MANUFACTURE  AND  CONSTRUCTION. 

Subjects  : 

How  to  IMake  a  WiUow  Whistle  ;  Tlirough    the    United    States 

a  Floral  Design  ;    a  Kite  ;  a  Mint. 

Photograph  Receiver.  An  Improvised  Hammock. 

A  Home-Made  Aquarium.  How  to  Put  Up  a  Swing. 

A  Successful  Rabbit  Trap.  A  Visit  to  the  Watch  Factory. 
How  Pasteboard  Boxes  are  Made. 


54  DESCRIPTION. 

We  liave  seen  that  there  are  kinds  of  narrative  com- 
position that  partake  more  or  less  of  the  nature  of 
description.  ITere  we  have  a  species  of  descriptive 
composition  that  horders  on  narration.  Here  action 
and  time  are  again  conspicuous  ek^ments,  only  it  is 
action  producing  a  complex,  material  result.  If  we 
deal  primarily  with  the  actors,  or  makers,  our  composi- 
tion seems  to  be  essentially  narrative  ;  if  we  deal 
primarily  with  the  things  acted  upon,  or  made,  then  it 
is  essentially  descriptive.  But  it  is  of  little  use  to  en- 
deavor always  to  keep  the  terms  distinct.  These  con- 
siderations will  merely  help  to  fix  the  fundamental 
distinction.  The  laws  of  discourse  and  the  characteris- 
tics of  style  are  not  limited  to  this  or  that  kind  of  com- 
position. C'learness,  Force,  and  Beauty,  have  as  much 
place  in  one  kind  as  in  another.  One,  as  another,  may 
be  interesting  or  dull,  sublime  or  ridiculous,  humorous 
or  i)athetic. 

To  tell  how  an  article  is  made  will  often  necessitate 
describing  its  various  parts,  but  tliis  in  turn  will  prob- 
al)ly  make  it  unnecessary  to  describe  the  article  as  a 
finished  whole  ;  that  will  have  been  done  well  enough 
already.  Indeed  it  is  a  very  common  resource  in 
describing  an  object  to  tell  how  portions  of  it  were 
constructed,  and  if  you  look  over  the  descriptions 
you  have  written  you  will  probably  find  instances  of 
this. 

Models  of  this  kind  of  Avriting  will  be  of  little  service. 
If  you  know  Iioav  to  make  the  article  yourself  you  have 
only  to  seek  the  best  words  and  simplest  formulas  by 
Avhich  to  give  a  clear  explanation  of  the  process  to 
another.     Clearness    is   the   one    thing    to    be    sought. 


PROCESSES    OF    MANUFACTURE.  55 

and  the  test  of  excellence  v/ill  be  the  ability  of  the 
reader  to  make  such  an  article  from  your  description 
alone. 

However  it  is  often  desirable  to  descril)e  certain  un- 
usual processes,  or  the  construction  of  unfamiliar  ol> 
jects,  not  Avith  any  intention  of  enabling  another  to 
imitate  the  process,  l)ut  simply  for  the  purpose  of 
affording  instruction  or  entertainment  and  gratifying 
an  almost  universal  curiosity  to  hear  about  that  Avhich 
is  strange.  The  f()ltf)\\'iiig  is  an  example  of  such  a 
description. 

INDIAN    BREAD    MAKING. 

Along  toward  sunset  of  a  hot  summer  afternoon  I  sauntered 
down  to  the  Indians'  liuts  and  watched  two  squaws  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  making  acorn  bread.  They  had  set  up  some  large 
willow  boughs  to  protect  them  from  the  sun,  and  these  formed  an 
effective  background  for  the  ragged,  dirty  forms  of  the  old  squaws. 
By  asking  many  questions  I  finally  obtained  from  them  the  process 
of  Indian  bread  making. 

It  takes  two  days,  one  to  gather  the  acorns,  a  second  to  grind 
them  and  bake  the  meal.  After  the  grinding,  the  flour  is  washed 
with  sand  and  water  in  a  water-tight  basket,  such  as  Indians 
always  use,  and  is  then  allowed  to  stand  until  the  sand  has  settled 
to  the  bottom.  Xext,  tlic  tup  is  jioured  off  into  another  basket 
and  into  this  are  thrust  intensely  hot  stones,  which  cause  the 
mixture  to  bubble  and  boil  as  though  a  fire  were  cooking  it. 
After  it  has  been  boiled  down  to  a  thick  paste  it  is  set  in  the 
river  to  cool,  and  when  cool  enough  to  handle  it  is  rolled  into 
small  loaves  and  again  put  into  the  river  to  harden. 

The  bread,  as  I  saw  it,  was  of  a  pinkish  color  and  looked 
sufficiently  temi)ting.  I  was  repeatedly  urged  to  taste  it,  but 
when  I  glanced  at  the  squaws'  hands  I  felt  constrained  to 
decline. 


56  DESCRIPTION. 

EXERCISE    XX. 

NATURAL    OBJECTS.  — THE    MINERAL    KINGDOM. 

Si(hjects : 

IJuikliiig  .Stone.  Table  Salt. 

New  England  Granite.  Gold  Mining. 

"Varieties  of  Marble.  Treasures  from  the  Sandpit. 

^lica.  Gems  and  Precious  Stones. 


No  doubt  some  knowledge  of  geology  or  mineralogy 
would  contribute  much  toward  giving  an  intrinsic  value 
to  descriptions  of  this  class.  But  intrinsic  value  is  not 
just  now  the  one  thing  needful.  We  are  writing 
English  —  writing  it  because  we  hope  some  day  to 
write  it  well,  very  well,  and  because  we  know  that 
every  sentence  we  write,  upon  Avhatsoever  subject, 
makes  the  next  subject  easier  and  better.  We  want 
practice  too  in  the  various  fields  of  composition,  scien- 
tific as  well  as  literary. 

Now  if  you  have  no  special  knowledge  in  this  line, 
the  attempt  to  write  in  it  will  subserve  another  end  — 
it  will  help  to  give  you  that  knowledge.  It  will  spur 
you  on  and  compel  you  to  learn.  But  learn  for  your- 
self and  by  yourself  ;  do  your  own  investigating.  Not 
only  will  this  be  vastly  more  profitable  from  every 
point  of  view,  but  it  will  be  incomijarably  more  in- 
teresting :  you  will  find  genuine  j^leasure  in  observing 
and  recording ;  writing  will  be  transformed  from  a 
drudgery  to  a  delight. 

The  whole  secret  is  this  :  Go  to  books,  if  you  like, 
for  your  names,  for  your  terminology  —  it  is  well  for 


NATURAL    OBJECTS.  57 

US  to  observe  uniformity  in  this  respect  —  but  fjo  to 
nature  for  your  facts.  Write  what  you  see,  and  it 
may  even  be  that  you  will  write  something  of  intrinsic 
worth,  for  not  everything  has  yet  been  seen.  Write 
Avliat  you  see  for  yourself  :  thus  only  will  your  work 
be  interesting,  thus  only  will  it  liear  the  impi'ess  of 
sincerity  and  conviction,  and  come  to  have  authority 
among  men. 

The  folloAving  outline  is  extracted  from  Baueiinan's 
Descriptive  Mineralogy  and  will  suggest  a  method  of 
procedure  for  the  description  of  other  minerals.  Of 
course  in  writing  an  essay,  this  abbreviated  catalogue 
style  must  not  be  used.  Let  every  sentence  be  com- 
plete in  itself  and  let  them  all  be  connected  as  smoothly 
as  possible. 

DIAMOND. 

Form,  and  Structure.  —  Crystals  cubic;  with  brilliant  faces; 
faces  pitted  ;  faces  striated  or  curved  ;  transparent,  translucent. 
Lustre,  adamantine.  Colorless,  or  in  tints  of  gray,  yellow, 
brown,  pink,  or  blue,  the  latter  being  the  rarest.  Refractive. 
Strong  chromatic  dispersion,  causing  a  brilliant  play  of  colors 
when  faceted.  Becomes  positively  electi'ic  by  friction;  often  phos- 
phorescent after  exposure  to  sunlight. 

Composition.  —  Carbon,  with  minute  traces  of  foreign  sub- 
stances.    Infusible. 

Orcitrrdire  and  Dls/rihu/inu.  —  Found  in  Brazil,  the  Ural,  India, 
Australia,  Borneo,  and  South  Africa  ;  tlie  first  and  last  localities, 
esjiecially  the  latter,  being  the  most  productive  at  present.  In 
South  Africa  the  productive  localities  are  the  gravels  of  the  Vaal 
and  Orange  rivers,  and  more  particularly  dykes  or  pipes  of  de- 
composing igneous  rocks  penetrating  schists.  These  have  now 
been  worked  several  hundred  feet  below  the  surface  without  get- 
ting to  undccomposed  rock.  The  diamonds  ai'e  found  irregularly 
interspersed  through  it,  and  may  be  an  original  constituent,  but 


58  DESCRIPTION. 

the  general  opinion  of  local  investigators  is  that  they  have  been 
derived  from  older  rocks  below. 

The  largest  known  diamond  is  said  to  be  in  Borneo,  and  to 
■weight  .367  carats  or  1284  Troy  grains.  The  Pitt,  a  cut  brilliant, 
is  of  136  carats.  Tlic  Knh-i-Noor  in  tin'  original  oriental  shape 
was  186,  but  has  been  reduced  to  a  brilliant  of  124  carats. 
]\Iany  large  crystals  have  been  discovered  of  late  years  in  South 
Africa. 

Use.  —  The  chief  use  of  diamond  is  for  ornamental  purposes, 
the  crystals  being  reduced  by  cutting  or  grinding  with  diamond 
dust  upon  a  lapidary's  wheel  to  a  double  jtyramidal  form,  unsyni- 
metrical  to  the  base,  being  pointed  at  one  end,  and  with  a  large  flat 
surface  at  the  other,  as  in  hemimorphic  crystals.  The  pyramid  is 
cut  with  the  largest  number  of  faces  possible,  to  obtain  a  maxi- 
mum of  total  reflecting  surfaces  ;  the  stone  is  mounted  with  the 
flat  surface  uppermost.  These  are  known  as  brilliants,  and  can 
only  be  obtained  fi'om  well-shaped  crystals.  Those  of  less  regu- 
lar form  are  cut  as  roses,  in  which  the  surface  is  covered  with 
triangular  facets,  and  the  thinnest  twins  or  flat  cleavage  pieces 
are  made  into  tables,  having  only  a  narrow  band  of  facets  on  the 
sides.  Diamonds  that,  from  want  of  lustre  or  defects,  cannot  be 
cut,  are  called  Bort.  For  glass-cutting  the  apex  of  an  octahedral 
crystal  is  required,  so  as  to  have  a  solid  point,  a  cleavage  frag- 
ment or  other  splinter  being  only  useful  for  writing  or  scratching. 


EXERCISE    XXL 

GEOLOGICAL    FORMATIONS. 

SuJijects  : 

A  Fifty  Foot  Vertical  Section  A  Visit  to  the  Stone  Quarry. 

of  Our  Soil.  Washington  County  Fossils. 

Coal  Deposits.  Systems  of  Crystallization. 

Petrifaction.  Stalactites  and  Stalagmites. 

How  Stones  Grow. 


GEOLOGICAL   FORMATIONS.  59 

The    object    here    again    is    to    describe    what   takes 
place.     The  problem  is  analogous  to  that  of  Exercise 
XXIV.,  the   difference  being  that  here  we   deal   with 
natural  instead  of  artificial  processes.     Select  a  subject, 
if  possil^le,  upon  which  you  can  write  partially  at  least 
from   first-hand  knowledge.      Watch   the  processes  of 
inorganic  nature  ;    examine    snow  crystals,    watch   the 
formation  of  ice,  the  erosion  of  rocks  by  tlie  waters  of  a 
creek,  the  sedimentary  deposits  in  the  creek's  bed.     Or 
material  may  be  obtained  from  simple  experiments,  sucli 
as  suspending  a  string  in  a  solution  of  sugar,  as  in  the 
manufacture  of  rock-candy,  or  "  crystallizing "   grasses 
by  dipping  them  in  a  solution  of  salt  or  alum.      Then 
supplement  your  own  knowledge  by  recourse  to  books 
on  chemistry,   mineralogy,  and   geology  ;  for   example, 
Bauerman's  Descriptive  Mineraloriy^  Dana's  Mitniial  of 
Geology,    Shaler's    First    Boole    in    Geology,  Winchell's 
Walks  and  Talks  in  the  Geological  Field,  Sparks  from  a 
Geologist's  Hammer,  Geological  Fxeursions,  and  Geologi- 
cal Studies. 

The  following  extract,  from  a  chapter  on  the  Appli- 
cation of  the  Observational  Method  in  Teachino-,  in 
Alexander  Winchell's  Sliall  We  Teacli  Geology?  will 
afford  many  hints  for  the  gathering  of  material  for  this 
kind  of  composition-writing.  Professor  Winchell  sup- 
poses the  student  to  be  in  "  a  quarry  region,  as  at 
Potsdam,  N.  Y.,  Portland,  Conn.,  Berea,  O.,  Joliet,  111." 

You  notice  tliat  tlie  rocks  which  these  workmen  are  quarrying 
lie  in  beds  or  hiyers.  Eacli  of  these  is  a  stratum.  The  sejiaration 
between  one  stratum  and  another  is  generally  a  very  narrow  fissure 
or  joint.  Often,  however,  you  find  the  joint  filled  with  some  other 
kind  of  material.     This  ifi  a  seam.     Sometimes  the  seam  is  of  an 


t>0  DESCKIPTION. 

earlliy  or  chiyey  character.     Sometimes  one  .stratum  is  so  closely 
joined  to  auotlier  that  one  can  scarcely  say  there  exists  either  seam 
or  joint.    <  )l)serve  all  this  for  yourself.    Generally  you  find  several 
strata  in   iiiiniediate  succession  niucli  nlikf.      Do  you  see  them  so 
here?     Or  do  you  find  a  decided  contrast  of  two  adjoining-  strata? 
Tn  Avhat  does  the  contrast  consist?     Are  they  of  dilt'crent  color? 
Of  (lirt'ercnt  fineness?     Of  different  degrees  of  homogeneity,   or 
lii<eness  of  substance  from  side  to  side?    Can  you  detect  any  lines 
running  along  the  broken  edges  of  any  of  the  strata?     What  are 
they  du(>   to?     What  renders  them  visible   and   distinguishable? 
These  are  lines  of  himinalion.     U  we  have  a  sandstone   here,  per- 
haps we    shall    find    some  laminae  running  obliquely  across  the 
broken  edges  of  certain  strata.     This  is  ()f)/i(/iic  lauHiitilio/i.     Look 
at  some  of  these  blocks  which  have  been  quarried  ;  tell  me  which 
was  the  nj^per  side.      IIow  does  the   upper  differ  from  the  lower 
side  ?    Do  these  strata  lie  in  a  li^irizontal  position  ?    Does  the  upper 
surface  present  any  inclination  ?     What  angle  does  it  make  with 
a  horizontal  plane?     Is  it  five  degrees?     Is  it  twenty  degrees? 
This  angle  is  the  dip  of  the  stratum.     Here  is  an  angle  of  ninety 
degrees  between  this  horizontal  and  this  perpendicular  line.    Half 
of  this  is  an   angle  of  forty  five-degrees  ;  and  half  of  this  is  an 
angle  of  twenty-two  and  one-half  degrees.     Represent  such  an 
angle.    Represent  an  angle  of  eleven  degrees.     Toward  what  direc- 
tion does  this  stratum  dip?     It  is  southwest,  perlui] IS.     Tlien   tlie 
strike  is  northwest  and  southeast.     How  thick  is  this  stratum  ? 
Measure  it  with  a  rule.     How  thick  is  the  next  one  ?     Come  to 
the  wall  of  the  quarry  and  measure  its  entire  height.     Sit  down 
and  make  a  sketch  of  this  wall.     Distinguish  each  stratum  exactly 
as  it  is.     Preserve  their  proportional  thicknesses.     Describe  each 
stl-atum  separately,  beginning  at  the  bottom.     Let  the  strata  be 
designated  A,  B,  C,  I),  etc.      In   describing,   give  kind   of  rock, 
color,  texture,  solidity,  purity  or  impurity,  homogeneity  or  want 
of  it,  thickness.     State  which  stratum  is  best  adapted  to  the  uses 
to  which  the  stone  is  applied.     As  bearing  on  the  uses,  you  may 
take  a  fragment  ho7iie  and  weigh  it  in  its  natural  condition  — 
then  weigh  it  after  drying  as  completely  as  you  have  means  for. 
If  you  have  no  balance,  go  to  the  apothecary,  or  omit  this  experi- 
ment.    Then  also  with  reference  to  use,  you  may  observe  whether 


THE    VEGETABLE    WORLD. FRUITS.  6l 

the  stone  wears  away  much  on  surfaces  exposed  to  the  weather. 
Does  it  iceather  smooth ?  Does  it  weather  into  concave  depressions? 
Do  fissures  appear  in  it?  Does  it  develop  rusty  specks  or  blotches? 
If  so,  these  are  probably  caused  by  iron  in  it. 


EXERCISE    XXII. 

THE   VEGETABLE    WORLD.  — FRUITS. 

Subjects : 

The  Acorn.  Orange.  Blackberry. 

Cocoanut.  Pine-apple.  Watermelon. 


Many  subjects  will  readily  occur,  any  one  of  whicli 
will  offer  material  for  a  description  of  considerable 
length.  Keep  in  mind  what  is  wanted,  and  keep  in 
mind  the  injunction  to  rely  on  your  own  observation. 
Avoid  the  style  and  method  that  have  been  so  prevalent 
in  juvenile  compositions  of  this  class,  in  which  the 
writer  begins,  '•'-  There  are  a  great  many  kinds  of  apples, 
such  as  the  Snow-apple,  the  Winesap,  the  Belltlower, 
etc.,"  and  then  wanders  off  in  the  second  sentence  to 
some  statement  about  the  uses  of  apples,  and  in  the 
tliird  to  something  entirely  different  still.  Such  com- 
positions are  mere  collections  of  detached  thoughts, 
without  unity  or  symmetry,  alike  uninteresting  and 
unprofitable.  Remember  that  what  we  want  now  is 
chiefly  description.  And  if  you  have  chosen  to  describe 
an  apple,  what  you  want  first  is  not  pen  and  ink  and 
paper  but  an  ap})le,  and,  if  you  cannot  l)reak  it,  a  knife 
to  cut  it.     Then  proceed  in  a  methodical  way.     Note 


(»'2  DESCRIPTION'. 

lilt'  si/.i',  shape,  and  tdlor ;  the  siinjolhncss,  thickness, 
and  toughness  of  tli(>  lind  ;  the  firmness,  taste,  and 
color  of  tlic  jiiilji  ;  the  size  of  the  core;  the  size  and 
shape  of  the  seeds,  etc.  <)idy  hy  proceediuL;-  in  tliis 
regidar  way  can  you  convey  a  good  idea  of  the  thing 
described.  And  l)esides  that  it  will  help  you  very 
much  in  finchng  material.  It  will  lessen  the  chances  of 
omission,  thus  insuring  a  nioie  exhaustive  treatment  of 
the  subject.  And  as  you  proceed,  one  thing  will 
suggest  anothei' :  the  coloi-  and  size  of  the  apple,  for 
instance,  will  suggest  its  marketing  value,  the  firmness 
of  the  fiesh  will  suggest  its  keeping  qualities,  the  taste 
Avill  suggest  its  uses.  An  enumeration  of  varieties  will 
naturally  follow  the  description  of  a  single  variety,  for 
then  differences  can  be  more  clearly  indicated.  TTere, 
too,  method  can  still  be  observed :  apples  fall  naturally 
into  summer,  autumn,  and  winter  varieties ;  and  it 
may  be  well  to  limit  yourself  to  kinds  found  in  vour 
immediate  neighborhood. 

Certain  botanical  terms  will  be  useful  here,  sutdi  as 
pome,  herry,  pepo,  nut,  pod,  alccnc,  drnpe,  cone.  Some 
of  these  are  common  enough  but  are  occasionally  mis- 
applied through  ignorance  of  their  exact  meaning. 
I^eai'u  to  distinguish  between  true  fruits,  such  as  those 
mentioned  above,  and  those  which  are  popularly  called 
fruits  but  are  not  such  in  the  strict  botanical  sense,  as 
the  strawberiy. 

In  the  dii-ections  given  above,  why  were  size,  shape, 
and  color  mentioned  first?  Because  they  are  tlie  most 
obvious  and  striking  features.  By  them  we  recognize 
at  once  that  an  ii])ple  is  au  apple  and  not  a  plum  or  a 
pear  or  an  orange.     By  them  too  we  are  enal)led  either 


FLOWERS.  63 

to  determine  its  specific  variety  or  to  limit  it  to  several 
closely  allied  varieties.  The  principle  is  simply  this  : 
Select  the  most  salient  characteristics  first ;  follow  in 
description  that  order  which  you  are  obliged  to  follow 
in  observation. 


EXERCISE    XXIII. 

FLOWERS. 

Suhjects  : 

The  Violet.  The  Flowers  of  Western  Xew  York. 

Peach  Blossoms.  My  Favorite  Flower. 

The  Wild  Popjoy.  Flowers  as  Xatioual  Emlileins. 


Though  in  nature's  order  flowers  come  before  fruits, 
they  are  placed  second  here  as  being  more  difficult  to 
describe.  The  first  four  of  the  above  subjects  will  serve 
for  scientific  description,  the  last  two  for  more  general, 
sympathetic,  and  imaginative  treatment.  For  the  first 
you  can  make  good  use  again  of  botanical  terms,  <;aly.i\ 
aepal^  coroUa^  jjctid^  sfameu,  anlltcr^  pistil,  etc,  AVith  a 
microsco})e  and  a  specime'n  before  you,  you  could  get  at 
the  facts  without  these  names,  but  in  writing  a  de- 
scription it  Avill  be  of  advantage  to  use  tlie  same  names 
that  others  use.  Even  without  any  knowledge  whatever 
of  l)otany  you  will  be  no  worse  off'  than  the  first  botan- 
ists who  had  to  study  the  plants  and  flowers  themselves 
instead  of  books.  We  of  a  later  day  cannot  affect  to 
despise  books  :  they  are  time-savers,  short  cuts  to 
knowledge  ;   they  enable  us  to  begin  where  our  ances- 


64  '  DESCRIPTION. 

tors  left  off.  But  first-liand  knowledge  will  always  be 
most  liiglily  prized.  The  following  is  an  example  of  a 
popular  description  of  a  flower,  in  which  free  use  is  none 
the  less  made  of  technical  terminology  : 

tup:    TKAILINU    ARBUTUS. 

The  trailing  arbutus,  known  in  botanies  as  Epigcea  repens,  is  the 
earliest,  sweetest,  and  most  charming  of  our  native  flowers.  It  is 
an  evergreen  creeping  plant,  found  mostly  in  mountainous  regions, 
in  ravines  and  on  northern  slopes.  The  leaves  are  deep  green, 
from  one  to  two  inches  long  and  about  half  as  broad  as  long, 
borne  on  short  petioles  covered  with  brownish  hairs.  Each  branch 
bears  several  of  these  leaves  near  its  extremity,  and  then  terminates 
in  a  crowded  spike-like  cluster  of  exquisite  waxy  flowers,  varying 
in  color  from  white  to  ricli  rose,  and  emitting  a  delicious,  aromatic 
fragrance. 

The  flowers  are  tubulai-,  the  tulif  being  half  an  inch  in  lengtli 
and  the  expanded  flower  about  half  an  inch  across.  They  are 
enclosed  in  a  membranous  calyx  of  five  pointed  sejials,  which  are 
half  as  long  as  the  tube,  and  these  sepals  are  in  turn  embraced  by 
three  hairy,  brownish  bracts,  somewhat  broader  and  shorter  than 
the  sepals.  The  tube  of  the  flower  is  wider  at  the  base  than 
above  the  sepals,  and  is  densely  set  inside  with  long,  silky,  white 
hairs.  It  encloses  entirely  the  pistil  and  ten  stamens.  The 
anthers  are  attached  at  one  end,  and  borne  upright  ;  the  seeds  are 
small  and  numerous. 

The  buds  are  formed  Ihe  previous  season,  and  maybe  distinctly 
noticed  in  autumn.  If  the  plants  are  lifted  at  that  season  and 
placed  in  a  fernery  kept  in  a  cool  room,  as  a  partially  heated  bed- 
room, the  buds  will  develop  in  February  and  yield  their  beauty 
and  fragrance  as  freely  as  in  their  native  haunts  in  spring.  Left 
undisturbed  where  tliey  grow,  however,  in  the  rich,  sandy  leaf- 
nujuld  of  a  wooded  northern  slope,  the  buds  are  just  ready  to  open 
on  the  approach  of  pleasant  days,  and  may  be  found  in  perfection 
from  the  tenth  of  April  till  the  first  of  May  in  the  latitude  of 
southern  Pennsylvania Ladies'  Home  Companion. 


PLANTS.  65 


EXERCISE    XXIV. 

PLANTS. 

Suhjects  : 

Water  Lilies.  The  Cactus. 

Vegetable  Parasites  and  Epiphytes.  JNIaize. 

Geraniums.  Evergreens. 

Ferns.  The  Oak. 

The  Cotton  Phiiit.  The  Palm. 


The  term  plants  embraces  the  entire  range  of  vege- 
table life  from  the  gigantic  forest  tree  to  the  moss  that 
clings  to  its  trunk  and  the  toadstool  that  thrives 
beneath  its  shade.  If  tlie  plant  3'ou  select  to  write 
about  l)ears  ilowers  and  fruit,  some  description  of  tliese 
will  be  necessary,  thougli  it  will  naturally  not  be  so 
minute  or  exhaustive  as  if  you  were  writing  about 
them  alone.  Keep  in  mind  your  sul^ject  and  observe 
throughout  that  symmetrical  treatment  which  every 
subject  demands.  It  would  l)e  manifestly  absurd  to 
devote  half  of  an  article  on  '••  The  Cliestnut "  to  a 
description  of  the  leaves  and  half  of  it  to  a  history  of 
the  tree,  or  one-fourth  to  general  features  and  the 
remainder  to  the  nut  Avhich  the  tree  bears.  Yet  such 
absurdities  are  committed.  A  pupil  has  been  known  to 
write  a  six-page  composition  under  the  title  of  "  The 
Maple,"  live  pages  of  which  were  given  up  to  an  ac- 
count of  the  manufacture  of  maple  sugar.  The  com- 
position was  good  enough  in  itself,  but  it  needed 
re-christening.  There  was  a  manifest  incongruity  be- 
tween   the    subject    and  the  subject-matter.     Keep    in 


()<)  DESCIIIPTION. 

sight  the  subject  always,  and  llieu  give  each  feature  of 
the  object  described  only  that  prominence  which  its 
importance  warrants. 

It  may  be  best  to  begin  with  a  description  of  the 
general  appearance  of  tbe  j)lant.  The  read(;r  will  be 
better  satisfied  if  he  has  at  the  outset  some  sort  of  out- 
bne  2)icture  of  the  wliole.  Then  proceed  to  details. 
Take  up  in  succession,  so  hir  as  the  plant  in  (question 
possesses  these  organs,  root,  stem,  brandies,  foliage, 
flowers,  fruit.  General  considerations  will  follow  — 
varieties,  uses,  associations.  If  you  are  describing  tlie 
oak,  note  its  symbolism  as  illustrated  in  the  derivation 
of  our  word  rolmst ;  note  too  its  connection  with 
Dodoiiiean  and  Druidic  rites.  In  like  manner  the  palm 
has  a  symbolism  of  its  own  and  will  call  up  more  than 
one  scriptural  and  classical  allusion.  There  is  a  saying 
among  the  Arabs  that  "the  palm  tree  lias  three  hundred 
and  sixty  uses." 

However,  do  not  get  the  idea  from  what  lias  been 
said  that  one  pai'ticular  order  must  always  be  followed. 
Such  a  ])ractice  would  result  in  very  mechanical,  in- 
flexible, monotonous  com])ositi()n.  Many  sul)jects  will 
admit  beiiip-  IreattKl  in  half  a  dozen  orders,  each  of 
wliich  has  a  defensible  claim  to  the  attribute  of  natural. 
Writers  of  genius  may  even  depart  from  natural  order 
altogether  and  still  produce  a  happy  effect.  When 
you  have  tlioroughly  trained  yourself  in  the  systematic 
treatment  of  subjects  so  that  the  most  intractable 
material  will  assume  under  your  hands  symmetry  and 
just  proportion,  then  you  may  more  safely  venture  to 
strike  out  upon  Avhatever  lines  j-our  fancy  suggests. 
Cultivated  taste  will  have  to  be  your  guide. 


PLANTS.  67 

]\X  O  D  E  I^. 

THE   JUDAS-TKEE. 

Those  who  have  traveled  througli  the  limestone  districts  of 
Pennsylvania  during  the  early  part  of  I\Iay,  will  remember  with 
pleasure  the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  At  that  time  the  large 
trees  of  June-berry  are  a  mass  of  white  bloom,  and  every  brake 
and  thicket  is  richly  decorated  with  the  glowing  red  of  the  Judas- 
tree  and  the  snowy  flowers  of  the  wild  plum  in  pleasing  contrast. 
All  of  these  trees  are  desirable  for  ornamental  planting,  blooming 
as  they  do  very  early  in  the  season,  before  the  foliage  has  de- 
veloped, and  making  a  gorgeous  display  by  the  profusion  of 
flowers  which  they  never  fail  to  produce.  But  the  most  lasting 
and  pleasing  of  the  three  is  the  Judas-tree,  or  red-bud,  botan- 
ically  known  as  Cercis  Canadensis. 

This  beautiful  tree  belongs  to  the  great  order  Legianindsce, 
which  includes  the  black  locust,  the  honey  locust,  the  coifee-tree, 
and  many  other  trees  prized  in  ornamental  gardening.  The 
flower  buds,  which  are  clustered  at  the  leaf  axils  along  the  stem, 
begin  to  swell  at  the  dawn  of  spring,  and  in  southern  Pennsyl- 
vania are  showing  their  color  by  the  middle  of  April.  They 
continue  to  develop  in  size  and  brilliancy  for  several  weeks,  and 
it  is  not  until  the  middle  of  May  that  the  banner-like  petals  are 
unfolded  nnd  th(>  bud  assumes  a  peculiar  bird-like  form.  A 
dozen  or  more  of  tliese  little  flowers  are  found  in  each  cluster, 
and  by  a  little  stretch  of  the  inuigination,  they  remind  one  of  as 
many  miniature  humming-birds  vying  with  each  other  for  a  share 
of  the  honey  from  some  nectared  flowei-s. 

The  trees  are  often  found  from  twenty  tn  thirty  feet  in  height, 
with  a  branching,  semi-globular  top  almost  as  many  feet  in 
diameter,  supported  by  a  trunk  fifteen  to  twenty-five  inches  in 
circumference.  In  full  bloom,  sucli  trees  are  a  mass  of  soft 
crimson  color,  and  may  be  seen  across  the  landscape  for  miles. 

As  the  flowers  begin  to  fade,  the  rich,  broad,  green  leaves 
expand,  and  clothe  the  tree  with  dense  verdure,  which  furnishes 
a  deliglitful  shade  the  entire  season.  This  is  further  intensified 
by  the  profusion  of  long,  compressed  green  seed-pods  which  turn 
to    a  brownish  red  during  autumn,   and  by  their  number  and 


68  DESCRIPTION. 

length,  as  well  as  peculiar  eulor,  (>xcite.  the  curiosity  and  admira- 
tion of  those  who  see  the  tree  or  enjoy  its  shade. 

Propagation  is  easily  effected  by  seeds,  and  the  trees  are  easily 
traiis]iliint('(|  and  do  well  in  the  most  exposed  sitnations.  With 
all  these  characteristics,  it  seems  strange  that  the  Judas-tree  is 

not    generally   used    for    ornamental   gardening -Ladies'    Home 

•Companion. 


EXERCISE    XXV. 


PLANT    GROWTH    AND    ACTIVITY. 

Svhjects  : 

Germination.  Plant  Creepers  and  Climbers. 

Budding  and  Grafting.  How  Seeds  are  Scattered  Abroad. 

Endogens  and  Exogens.  The  Sensitive  Plant. 

Tree  Rings.  Venus's  Fly-trap. 
Rapid  and  Rank  (i rowers. 


Take  half  a  dozen  beans  or  grains  of  corn  or  other 
seed,  and  plant  them  in  warm,  moist  earth.  Examine 
one  each  day  and  from  your  examination  describe  as 
well  as  you  can  the  process  of  growth.  The  more 
mysterious  processes  of  change  in  organic  structure,  of 
cellular  growth  and  multiplication,  must  of  course  be 
left  for  the  microscope  of  the  skilled  botanist. 

This  is  very  plainly  description  though  it  assumes  to 
deal  with  activity.  We  describe  the  plant  as  it  appears 
at  different  stages  of  the  activity,  and  that  is  about  all. 
We  see  it  before  the  change  takes  place,  we  see  it  again 
afterward,  but  just  what  that  change  consists  in  deeper 
than  this  external  manifestation  of  it,  is  extremely  diffi- 
cult if  not  quite  impossible  to  say. 


ANIMALS.  GO 

There  is  to  be  noted  in  vegetable  life  much  activity 
apart  from  mere  growth,  —  movements  that  look  toward 
self-defense,  self-sustenance,  self-preservation,  —  move- 
ments that  exhibit  many  of  the  characteristics  of  animal 
instinct.  This  is  one  of  the  things  that  forbid  us  to 
draw  a  sharp  line  between  the  two  kingdoms.  The 
observation  of  these  movements  will  furnish  material 
for  very  interesting  descriptions. 


EXERCISE    XXVI. 

ANBIALS. 

Siihjerts  : 

Butterflies.  The  King  of   Beasts  :  Fabulous  Animals. 

The  Humming  Bird.       A  Dispute  between  Intelligence  of  Brutes. 

Robin  Redbreast.  tlie  Elephant,    the  Physical      Character- 

The  Brook  Trout.  Lion,       and       the         istics    of    a    Good 

]\Iy  Pets.  Horse.  Trotting    Horse. 


Any  Natural  History  will  furnish  a  wealth  of  infor- 
mation on  these  subiects.  And  various  works  of  such 
authors  as  John  Burroughs,  Olive  Thorne  Miller, 
Maurice  Thompson,  and  John  B.  Grant,  may  be  con- 
sulted both  for  matter  and  for  good  examples  of  the 
way  in  which  the  matter  should  be  treated.  But  do 
not  consult  these  books  first  if  you  wish  to  get  the 
maximum  of  profit  from  this  exercise.  Here,  as  always, 
observe  for  yourself.  Half  an  hour  spent  before  a  cage 
of  monkeys  or  a  tank  of  fish,  will  be  more  fruitful  than 
the  reading  of  a  chapter  from  any  book.     Go  to  books 


'0 


DESCRIPTION. 


to  settle  pointvS  that  von  liave  no  means  of  settling  for 
yourself,  and  to  verily  tlu-  results  of  your  observation. 
Do  not  be  disappointed  to  lind  tlicni  verified  :  tlie 
young  investigator  is  sometimes  apt  to  feel  that  way. 
Be  eneouraged  rather,  for  while  tlie  verifieation  does 
not  detract  in  the  least  from  the  meiit  of  your  own 
discovery,  it  increases  your  confidence  in  your  own 
poAvers. 

It   is    not   intended   here    that  you   shall    dissect  an 
animal   and   describe  it  down    to   the    minutest   details 
of  its  organism,  although  tliat  ma}-  be  done.     But  an 
abundance  of  subject-matter  may  be  found  apart  from 
this.      ]f  you  are  interested  in  birds,  note  the  varieties 
that  are  to  be  found  in  3-()ur  neighborhood  ;  the  time 
of    arriA'al  and   departure  of  the    migratory  ones  ;    the 
respective    sizes,   and    lengths    of    beaks,   wings,   legs, 
claws  ;  the   extremes   of   color  variation    in   the    same 
species  ;  the    notes    or   calls  ;   tlie    manner   of  running 
on  the  ground  ;  the  favorite  resorts,  food,  etc.     Speak- 
ing of  bird-notes  calls  to  mind  a  very  interesting  essay 
read  before  a  class  b}^  a  boy  who  had  a  good  ear  for 
music  and  a  talent  for  whistling.     Tie  imitated  so  well 
the   notes   of   half   a   dozen   diiferent   birds    that    they 
were     immediately    recognized    by    his    hearers.      The 
same  thing  may  b(!  conveyed  to  readers,  though  in  a 
more  imperfect  way,   by  the  use  of  musical  notation. 
See  S.  P.  Cheney's  Wood  Notes  Wild. 

The  numerous  points  just  suggested  Avould  furnish 
too  much  matter  for  an  ordinary  composition.  Either 
confine  yourself  to  one  species  of  animal,  or  to  the 
comparison  of  different  species  in  respect  to  some  par- 
ticular feature.     For  example,   "Bird  Beaks"  would 


ANIMALS.  71 

of  itself  be  a  very  comprehensive  subject.  The  follow- 
ing descri})tion  of  the  genus  Ursus  and  the  species 
Ursus  Jwrribilis  are  taken  from  CeciVs  Books  of  Natural 
History^  by  Selim  H.  Peal)0(ly  : 

All  the  species  of  bears  have  great  size,  large  liiulis,  and  heavy 
gait.  They  walk  upon  the  flat  soles  of  their  feet,  and  are,  there- 
fore, with  the  raccoons,  called  plantigrades.  The  print  of  the  foot 
of  a  black  bear,  left  in  the  soft  earth,  resendiles  very  much  the 
impression  of  a  man's  hand  —  fingers,  thumb,  and  palm  being 
distinctly  marked.  This  form  of  foot  takes  away  much  of  the 
swiftness  which  beasts  of  prey  usually  possess.  The  dog  and  cat 
families  move  upon  their  toes,  or  digits,  and  are  called  digitiyrades. 

Bears'  feet  have  five  toes,  armed  with  large,  strong  claws,  fit  for 
digging  and  climbing,  rather  than  for  holding  prey  or  tearing 
flesh.  They  eat  a  variety  of  food,  and,  besides  flesh,  are  fond  of 
nuts,  acorns,  berries,  growing  corn,  and  young  grain. 

They  seldom  attack  man,  unless  driven  by  severe  hunger,  or 
provoked  ;  but  when  angry,  are  very  dangerous.  They  are  not 
only  savage,  but  solitary  ;  making  their  lonely  dens  in  the  most 
secret  and  inaccessible  places.  In  winter  they  sleep  in  their  dens, 
in  some  cavern  of  the  rocks,  or  in  the  hollow  of  some  old  tree. 
Here  they  pass  months,  without  food,  in  a  torpid  state,  breathing 
so  gently  and  slowly  that  one  would  hardly  suppose  them  alive. 
As  the  winter  passes,  their  fat  wastes  away  ;  until,  when  they 
crawl  forth  in  the  spring,  they  seem  to  have  slept  off  all  their 
flesh.  .  .  . 

The  Grizzly  Bear,  Ursus  horribllis,  is  the  most  powerful  and 
dangerous  wild  beast  of  America.  He  is  from  six  to  nine  feet 
long,  and  sometimes  weighs  as  much  as  eight  hundred  pounds. 
His  hair  is  longer  and  finer  than  that  of  the  black  bear,  and  the 
color  varies  from  a  grizzly  gray  to  a  light  brown.  The  hair  on 
the  legs  and  feet  is  darker  and  shorter  than  that  on  the  body  ;  on 
the  face  it  is  so  short  and  pale  as  to  make  the  creature  seem  bald  ; 
on  the  neck  it  grows  to  a  stiff,  coarse  mane. 

The  feet  and  claws  are  very  large.  The  forefoot  of  a  specimen 
measured  by  Lewis  and  Clarke,  was  nine  inches  broad,  and  was 


72  DESCRIPTION. 

armed  -with  claws  six  inclies  lonj^.      These  claws  are  not   pointed, 
but  are  thin  and  wide,  fitted  to  dig  in  the  earth. 

Notwithstanding  his  size,  his  unwieldy  form,  and  his  shambling 
gait,  he  runs  with  great  speed,  and  his  strength  overcomes  even 
that  of  the  bison.  The  Indians  regard  him  with  superstitious 
awe,  and  make  preparations  to  hunt  him  with  many  ceremonies. 
A  necklace  of  bears'  claws,  which  can  be  worn  only  by  the  brave 
who  has  himself  killed  the  bear,  is  a  mark  of  great  valor,  and 
entitles  the  wearer  to  peculiar  honors.  Since  the  Indian  has 
learned  to  use  tlie  rifle,  the  risk  is  somewhat  less  than  when  he 
fought  Bruin  with  arrows  and  sj^ears  ;  yet,  with  fire-arms,  a  steady 
hand  and  sure  aim  are  necessary,  for  a  wounded,  angry  bear  is 
very  dangerous.  There  can  be  no  escape  ;  life  is  staked  against 
life. 


EXERCISE    XXVIL 

ANIMAL    HABITS,  P:TC. 

Subjects : 
Insect  Architectiu'e.  Kittens  at  Play. 

Bees  at  Work.  The  Provident  Squirrel. 

Nest  Building.  How  Fish  Swim. 

Bird  Migrations.  Fight  between  a  Dog  and  a  Snake. 


Do  not  feel  restricted  to  the  subjects  given  in  these 
lists  ;  they  are  offered  merely  as  examples.  If  no  one 
of  them  suits  you,  select  something  else,  provided  only 
that  it  be  in  the  line  of  the  general  subject.  In  the 
present  exercise  it  should  deal  with  some  phase  of 
animal  liabits  or  animal  activity.  This  is  an  interesting 
and  almost  inexhaustible  field. 

Have  you  sometimes  wished  to  visit  a  foreign  land 
where  new  customs  and  laws  obtain,  where  the  food  and 
dress  of  the   inhabitants,   the   art  and  commerce,  the 


ANIMAL    HABITS,    ETC.  73 

implements  of  war  and  the  regulations  for  peace,  are  all 
strange  to  you?  It  is  easily  done.  Visit  an  ant-hill, 
a  bee-hive,  a  bear-pit.  Go  out  into  the  garden  and 
overturn  a  stone,  and  see  if  you  do  not  find  there  a 
most  cosmopolitan  community. 

The  following  is  an  example  of  a  short  essay  written 
from  observation  of  this  kind : 

LILLIPUTIAN   ENGINEERS. 

AVhile  walking  along  a  trail  in  the  monntain  one  day,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  by  a  conimunity  of  red  ants  that  were  busily 
engaged  about  the  little  mound  wliich  arose  above  their  under- 
gi'ound  dwelling.  Evidently  they  had  a  difficult  task  before  them,  to 
judge  from  the  way  in  which  some  of  them  kept  running  about, 
while  a  few  others  stood  surveying  a  pebble  the  size  of  a  small  mar- 
ble which  lay  dangerously  close  to  the  entrance  in  the  top  of  the 
mound  and  which  they  seemed  to  want  removed.  Soon  the  en- 
gineers—  for  sirch  I  took  those  to  be  that  were  examining  the 
pebble  —  seemed  to  have  solved  the  problem,  since  all  set  busily 
to  work  excavating  a  ditch  just  beyond  the  pebble.  "When  this 
was  almost  completed  the  last  grains  of  sand  that  held  the  pebble 
were  carefully  removed  by  two  of  them,  and  it  gave  a  partial  roll. 
The  same  operation  was  performed  again  and  again,  and  they 
would  surely  have  completed  their  task  alone,  had  I  not  given 
them  a  helping  hand. 

My  theory  was  that  the  intelligent  little  creatures  feared  lest 

the  pebble  might  cave  in  on  them  when  they  should   tunnel  out 

their  upper  compartments. 

F.  G.   K. 

Again    we    extract    from    CeciVs    Books    of   Natvral 

History : 

HOW   THE    WASP   MAKES    HER   NEST. 

When  quite  a  little  boy,  the  writer  used  to  go  away  alone  into 
a  closet  to  learn  his  lesson.  The  blinds  at  the  only  window  in 
the  room  were  always  closed,  giving  barely  light  enough  to  read 


74  DESCRIPTION. 

when  sitting  on  a  stool  beneath  it.  One  spring  day  a  wasp  came 
between  the  blind  and  the  glass,  and  after  much  buzzing  and 
much  walking  about,  began  to  build.  She  first  laid  down,  beneath 
the  under  edge  of  the  upper  sash,  a  patch  of  paper  about  a  third 
of  an  inch  in  dianietor  ;  then,  standing  on  this,  she  raised  cup- 
shaped  edges  all  about  her,  increasing  outward  and  downward, 
like  the  cup  of  an  acorn,  and  then  drawing  together  a  little,  until 
a  little  house  was  made  just  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  white- 
oak  acorn,  except  that  she  left  a  hole  in  the  bottom  where  she 
might  go  in  and  out. 

Then  she  began  at  the  top,  and  laid  another  cover  of  paper  over 
the  first,  just  as  far  away  as  the  length  of  her  legs  made  it  easy 
for  her  to  work.  Now  it  was  clear  that  she  made  the  first  shell 
as  a  frame  or  a  scaffold  on  which  she  might  stand  to  make  the 
second.  She  would  fly  away,  and  after  a  few  minutes  come  back, 
with  nothing  that  could  be  seen,  either  in  her  feet  or  in  her  jaws. 
But  she  at  once  set  to  laying  her  paper-stuff,  which  came  out  of 
her  mouth,  upon  the  edge  of  the  work  she  had  made  before.  As 
she  laid  the  material  she  walked  backward,  building  and  walking, 
until  she  had  laid  a  patch  a  little  more  than  an  eighth  of  an  incli 
wide  and  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  inch  long.  When  laid,  the 
pulp  looked  like  wet  brown  paper,  which  soon  dried  to  an  ashen 
gi'ay,  and  still  resembled  coarse  paper.  As  she  laid  the  material, 
she  occasionally  went  over  it  again,  putting  a  little  more  here  and 
there,  in  the  thin  places  ;  generally  the  work  was  well  done  the 
first  time. 

So  the  work  went  on.  The  second  paper  shell  was  about  as 
large  as  a  pigeon's  egg;  then  a  third  was  made  as  large  as  a  hen's 
egg;  then  another  still  larger.  After  a  time  the  wasp  seemed  to 
go  inside  to  get  her  material,  and  it  appeared  that  she  was  taking 
down  the  first  house  and  putting  the  paper  upon  the  outside.  If 
so,  she  did  not  bring  out  pieces  and  patch  them  together  as  a 
carpenter,  saving  of  work,  would  do,  but  she  chewed  the  paper 
up,  and  made  fresh  pulp  of  it,  just  as  the  first  was  made.  Of 
course  the  boy  did  not  open  the  window,  for  he  was  too  curious 
to  see  the  work  go  on,  and  then  he  was  afraid  of  the  sting.  How 
large  the  nest  grew  he  never  learned,  for  he  soon  after  left  the 
school,  and  saw  no  more  of  it. 


NATURE   AT    REST.  75 

EXERCISE    XXVIII. 
NATURE    AT    REST. 

Subjects  : 

View  from  My  AViiidow.  School- Girl's  Glen. 

High  Noon  on  the  Plains.  Yellowstone  Park. 

Eagle  Lake  by  Moonlight.  A  Winter  Scene. 
Mt.  Shasta. 


You  must  alread}-  have  realized  how  difficult  it  is  to 
arouse  and  hokl  tlie  reader's  interest  by  purely  de- 
scriptive composition.  Interest  centers  most  naturally 
about  life,  —  about  the  variety  and  uncertainty  that  are 
found  wherever  there  are  continual  changes.  In  the 
description  of  inanimate  or  quiescent  objects  these  ele- 
ments are  lacking  and  the  sources  of  interest  must  be 
souofht  elsewhere.  Much  can  be  trusted  to  the  sesthetic 
sense,  more  or  less  developed  in  all  of  us,  which  finds 
pleasure,  or  it  may  be,  its  opposite,  in  the  mere  contem- 
plation of  form  and  color.  But  this  sense  will  weary 
readily  and  the  most  exalted  description  which  appeals 
to  it  alone  may  not  safely  be  carried  very  far.  There- 
fore brevity  is  to  be  sought. 

Even  the  Iniefest  description  may  be  made  extremely 
monotonous.  This  inevitably  happens  when  it  is  a 
mere  catalogue  of  details,  strung  together  like  beads  on 
a  string,  without  any  grou})ing  or  organic  connection 
between  them.  "  Give  each  feature  only  that  promi- 
nence which  its  importance  warrants,"  was  recommended 
a  few  pages  back.  It  might  be  inferi-ed  from  tliis  that 
some  features  deserve  more  attention  than  others.     And 


76  DESCIIII'TION. 

SO  they  do.  Everytliino-,  from  a  leaf  to  a  lantLscape, 
has  its  striking  and  distingniishing  characteristics  which 
must  be  seized  npon  and  transmitted,  first,  Last,  and 
always.  That  individuality  which  nothing  permanent 
loses  in  natui-e  should  not  for  a  moment  be  lost  in  art. 
Subordinate;,  in  spite  of  all  temptation  to  the  contrary, 
that  which  is  manifestly  subordinate.  Is  the  view  from 
your  window  charming?  Discover,  if  you  can,  what 
particular  elements  in  it  make  it  so.  Is  it  restful,  or 
depressing,  or  inspiring,  or  sublime  ?  Try  above  all  to 
convey  to  your  reader  the  impression  that  it  is  restful, 
or  depressing.  Beware  of  telling  him  bluntly  that  it  is 
so  ;  that  were  inartistic  and  ineffective.  To  assert  aoain 
and  again  that  a  thing  is  beautiful,  only  tantalizes  a 
reader.  He  can  get  little  conception  of  beauty  out  of 
the  word  heautifuU  and  the  little  he  gets  may  be  entirely 
false.  Give  him  the  impression  as  nearly  as  you  can  in 
the  way  in  which  it  was  given  to  you.  That  is  to  say, 
reproduce  the  picture  accurately  for  him  and  let  it  make 
its  own  impression. 

M:or)EL. 

MT.    KENESAW. 

The  sun  was  slowly  sinking  beneath  the  gray  line  of  mountains 
in  the  west.  The  ascent  had  been  steep.  Leo  and  I  had  been 
climbing  rapidly,  pausing  only  once  or  twice  on  the  way  up  to 
breathe.  The  air  of  northern  Georgia  makes  one  equal  to  almost 
any  task,  however,  and  we  were  at  last  standing  upon  the  summit 
which  Sherman,  twenty-seven  years  before,  had  striven  so  vainly 
to  reach. 

The  only  obstacle  that  Mt.  Kenesaw  had  offered  us  was  its  own 
steep  and  rugged  sides,  and  we  now  rested  upon  its  huge,  un- 
guarded embankments,  the  silent  witnesses  once  of  that  bloody 
struggle,  and  looked  down  at  the  scene  of  beauty  and  repose  lying 


NATURAL   AND   ARTIFICIAL   OBJECTS.  77 

at  oiu-  feet.  To  tlie  south  stretches  a  valley  marked  here  -with 
broad  fields  of  red  clay,  and  there  with  forest  growth  clothed  in 
the  first  green  of  spring.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  lies  the 
little  village  of  Marietta.  Hills  and  gray  mountains  give  a  wilder 
aspect  to  the  north  and  east.  Just  beneath  us,  circling  the  moun- 
tain's verge,  are  the  rifle  pits  where  death  leaping  fi'oni  a  thousand 
fiery  throats  had  met  the  Northern  soldiers. 

Everj-thing  remains  just  as  it  was  left  twenty-seven  years  ago. 
Minie-balls  and  shells  still  lie  about  the  works,  while  now  and 
then  a  cannon-ball  is  picked  up. 

Slowly  the  buzzards  wheel  overhead. 

The  sun's  last  rays  linger  upon  the  peak,  giving  a  fond  good- 
night, and  then  silently  vanish. 

The  cool  of  evening  begins  to  settle  around.  Gently  the  wind 
sth's  the  trees  in  the  cemetery  on  the  hill  where  ten  thousand 
brave  Xorthern  boys  sleep  their  last  sleep. 

At  last,  roused  from  om-  reveries  by  the  evening  chill,  we  begin 
slowly  to  descend  the  mountain.  M    G    W 


EXERCISE    XXIX. 

NATURAL    AND   ARTIFICIAL    OBJECTS   IN 
CONJUNCTION. 

Subjects  : 

A  Rustic  Bridge.  The  Old  Mill. 

Central  Park.  A  Visit  to  the  Cliff  House. 

Carmelo  Mission.  A  Deserted  Ranch. 

Light-House  Rock.  Ruins  by  Moonlight. 


Let  us  define  clearly  just  what  subjects  are  contem- 
plated in  this  exercise.  On  the  one  hand  we  have  al- 
ready dealt  with  nature  and  her  products,  and  on  the 
other  hand  we  have  touched  to  some  extent  upon  cer- 


78  DESC'RII'TrON. 

tain  creations  of  man,  if  we  may  call  a  creation  that 
which  is  merely  an  adaptation  and  combination  of  the 
inanimate  prodncts  of  natnrc.  AVe  shall  return  again 
to  objects  of  this  latter  class  as  \\c  find  tlicm  in  their 
highest  form  of  jaire  art.  Now  between  these  two  ex- 
tremes of  nature  and  art  lie  all  combinations  of  the 
two  in  which  nature  is  animate  and  is  allowed  at  least 
partial  freedom  to  Avork  out  her  own  ends.  Here  we 
can  distinguish  l\\()  pretty  sharply  defined  cases,  both 
of  which  come  under  the  head  of  the  present  exercise. 
The  one  is  exemplifuHl  wherever  man  has  attempted  to 
control  or  direct  the  active  forces  of  nature  to  subserve 
liis  own  ideals  of  usefulness  or  beauty.  Thus  we  find 
the  hillsides  converted  into  vineyards,  the  prairies  into 
farms,  the  waterfall  into  a  mechanical  power,  the  grove 
into  a  park  with  lakes  and  fountains  and  avenues. 
The  other  case  is  exemplified  wherever  nature  has  re- 
claimed and  asserted  dominion  over  the  works  of  man. 
Thus  a  Pompeii  is  buried  beneath  ashes  an<l  scorifc,  a 
desei'ted  dAvelling  becomes  the  lair  of  wild  beasts,  a 
tower  falls  stone  from  stone  while  flowers  bloom  in  its 
crannies  and  ivy  and  mosses  make  beautiful  the  most 
re})ulsive  final  stages  of  decay.  Each  has  its  charm, 
distiuct  and  unmistakable,  for  though  man's  work  is 
ever  imitation,  it  is  imitation  that  makes  no  attempt  to 
deceive. 

Some  features  may  in  themselves  deserve  more  atten- 
tion than  others,  and  yet  the  relative  prominence  given 
to  various  features  of  the  object  described  may  depend 
on  external  considerations.  It  may  safely  be  asserted 
that  no  two  people  get  exactly  the  same  impression 
from  the   same   object.     The  farmer  and  the  business 


NATURAL   AND    ARTIFICIAL    OBJECTS.  79 

man  and  the  artist  Avill  look  upon  a  stretch  of  hill  and 
valley  with  very  different  eyes.  Now  no  one  of  us 
can  get  these  different  impressions  in  their  entire  viv- 
idness, and  yet  it  becomes  our  duty  in  describing  to 
consult  as  far  as  possible  the  tastes  and  views  of  those 
whom  we  are  addressing  and  to  emphasize  the  points 
which  they  would  care  particularly  to  have  emphasized. 
In  like  manner,  not  only  tlie  class  of  readers  addressed, 
but  tlie  time  and  place  and  circumstances  generally, 
should  have  much  influence  in  determining  our  method 
of  treatment.  All  of  this  is  only  another  way  of  say- 
ing that  in  description  we  should  select  a  definite  point 
of  viciv.  The  point  of  view  is  here  taken  to  mean,  in 
the  description  of  a  landscape  for  instance,  not  only 
the  topical  position  of  the  describer,  but  also  his  mental 
attitude,  so  to  s[)eak.  We  want  to  know  how  he  is 
inclined  to  look  at  things.  If  he  describes  a  meadow- 
lark  we  want  to  know  whether  he  does  it  as  a  poet  or 
as  a  naturalist,  so  that  we  shall  know  from  what  stand- 
j^oint  we  are  to  read  and  criticise.  This  point  of  view 
should  be  clearly  indicated  somewhere  in  the  begin- 
ning, and  if  it  is  sliifted  at  any  time,  as  of  course  it 
may  be  occasionally,  the  reader  should  have  full 
Avarning. 

Tlie  following  sample  description  is  taken  from  Olive 
Sclu'einer's  Story  of  an  African  Farm : 

The  full  African  moon  poured  down  its  liglit  from  the  blue 
sky  into  the  wide,  lonely  plain.  The  dry,  sandy  earth  with  its 
coating  of  stunted  "  karroo  "  hushes  a  few  inches  high,  the  low 
liills  that  skirted  the  plain,  the  milk-bushes  with  their  long  finger- 
like leaves,  all  were  touched  by  a  weird  and  almost  oppressive 
beauty  as  they  lay  in  the  white  light. 


80  DESCRIPTfoN. 

In  one  spot  only  was  the  solemn  monotony  of  the  plain  broken. 
Near  the  centre  a  small  solitary  "  kopje "  rose.  Alone  it  lay 
there,  a  heap  of  ronnd  ironstones  piled  one  npon  another,  as  over 
some  giant's  grave.  Here  and  there  a  few  tnfts  of  grass  or  small 
snccnlent  plants  had  si)rnng  np  among  its  stones,  and  on  the  very 
summit  a  clump  of  prickly  pears  lifted  their  thorny  arms,  and 
reflected,  as  from  mirrors,  the  moonlight  on  their  broad  fleshy 
leaves.  At  the  foot  of  tlic  '-kopje"  lay  the  homestead.  First, 
the  stone-walled  sheep  kraals  and  KafRr  huts  ;  beyond  them  the 
dwelling-house  —  a  square  red  brick  building  with  thatched  roof. 
Even  on  its  bare  red  walls,  and  the  wooden  ladder  that  led  up  to 
tlie  loft,  the  moonlight  cast  a  kind  of  dreamy  beauty,  and  quite 
etherealized  the  low  brick  wall  that  ran  before  the  house,  and 
wliich  enclosed  a  bare  patch  of  sand  and  two  straggling  sun- 
flowers. On  the  zinc  roof  of  the  great  open  wagon-house,  on  the 
roofs  of  the  outbuildings  that  jutted  from  its  side,  the  moonlight 
glinted  with  a  quite  peculiar  brightness,  till  it  seemed  that  every 
rib  in  the  metal  was  of  burnished  silver. 

Sleep  ruled  everyw'here,  and  the  homestead  was  not  less  quiet 
than  the  solitary  ]>hiin.   .   .  . 

The  farm  by  daylight  was  not  as  the  farm  by  moonlight.  The 
plain  was  a  weary  flat  of  loose,  red  sand,  sparsely  covered  by  dry 
"karroo  "  bushes,  that  cracked  beneath  the  tread  like  tinder,  and 
showed  the  red  earth  everywhere.  Here  and  there  a  milk-bush 
lifted  its  pale-colored  rods,  and  in  every  direction  the  ants  and 
beetles  rail  about  in  the  blazing  sand.  The  red  walls  of  the  farm- 
house, the  zinc  roofs  of  the  outbuildings,  the  stone  walls  of  the 
kraals,  all  reflected  the  fierce  sunlight,  till  the  eye  ached  and 
blenched.  No  tree  or  shrub  was  to  be  seen  far  or  near.  The 
two  sunflowers  that  stood  before  the  door,  outstared  by  the  sun, 
drooped  their  brazen  faces  to  the  sand,  and  the  little  cicada-like 
insects  cried  aloud  among  the  stones  of  the  "  kopje." 

The  punctuation  of  the  above  may  not  always  be  the 
most  rational,  nor  are  the  relative  pronouns  managed 
very  skillfully,  but  as  a  piece  of  description  it  is  strong 
and   vivid.     Notice   how  effectively  the   moonlight  is 


NATURE    IN    ACTIVITY.  81 

used  to  soften  and  blend  the  artificial  with  the  natural 
objects,  and  then  how  sharply  they  all  stand  out  in  the 
sunlight.  How  is  the  point  of  view  taken  at  the  be- 
ginning ? 

EXERCISE    XXX. 
^       NATURE    IN   ACTIVITY. 

Si(hje.cts  : 

A  Sunrise  at  Sea.  The  Joliiistown  Flood. 

Niagara  Falls.  Through  a  Forest  Fire. 

A  Thunderstorm.  A  Prairie  Fire. 

A  Windy  Day.  The  Recent  Eai-thquake. 


These  subjects  may  seem  to  suggest  only  the  most 
striking  phenomena  of  nature  and  the  great  ravages 
which  her  forces  effect.  Such,  it  is  true,  make  stronger 
impressions  on  the  observer  and  awaken  keener  interest 
in  the  reader,  so  that  they  are  favorite  subjects  for  de- 
scription. But  do  not  allow  familiarity  or  indifference 
to  blind  you  to  the  striking  aspects  of  nature's  chang- 
ing mood  as  exhibited  about  you  daily.  The  sunrise 
from  your  window  may  be  as  beautiful  as  any  at  sea. 
The  storm  that  breaks  fiercely  over  your  head  may  be 
little  less  sublime  than  that  which  hurtles  about  the 
peaks  and  careers  down  the  valleys  of  the  Al})s. 

Descriptions  of  this  class  do  not  often  have  for  their 
design  the  mere  imparting  of  information.  That  is, 
they  are  not  usually  of  a  scientific  character,  but  rather 
of  a  literary  or  artistic  one.  The  object  is  to  interest 
and  please  the  reader,  to  create  in  liis  mind,  in  all  its 


82  DESCRIPTION. 

original  vividness,  the  picture  wliich  the  writer  has 
seen,  and  to  arouse  in  him  the  same  emotions  which  the 
writer  has  felt.  To  compass  this  ohject  in  any  satisfac- 
tory degree  requires  the  use  of  considerably  "height- 
ened" language  ;  for  the  strongest  words  are  but  weak 
picture-makers  com})ared  with  the  flying  clouds  and  the 
everlasting  hills.  We  use  this  heightened  language 
whenever  we  introduce  words  or  expressions  that  seem 
elevated  above  or  in  any  way  removed  from  the  sphere 
of  sober  thought  and  simple  feeling.  Among  other 
things,  figures  of  speech, — simile  and  metaphor,  per- 
sonification, exclamation,  apostroj)he,  antithesis,  —  are 
naturally  and  freely  resorted  to.  We  call  these  orna- 
ments of  speech,  and  say  they  serve  to  give  the  artistic 
touches  that  we  desire. 

Let  us  see  now,  if  Ave  can,  just  in  what  consist  true 
artistic  or  literary  touches,  these  ornaments  of  composi- 
tion. Are  we  at  liberty  to  adopt  anything  that  is  in 
itself  ornamental?  Can  we  always  depend  upon  its 
giving  a  happy  effect?  How  is  it  in  art  in  general? 
How  is  it  in  life  ?  Why  are  you  not  charmed  with  the 
savage's  paint  and  feathers?  Why  does  a  costly  watch 
chain  not  displease  you,  while  a  pair  of  diamond  ear- 
rings does,  and  even  a  showy  finger  ring,  in  these  days 
when  seals  are  no  more,  sets  you  thinking?  You  say 
these  things  offend  a  cultivated  taste.  What  is  a  culti- 
vated taste?  Shall  we  say  that,  whatever  else  it  may  be, 
it  is  a  taste  that  takes  delight  in  things  ornamental 
only  when  they  at  the  same  time  plainly  serve  some 
ulterior  end?  If  this  is  not  the  truth  it  is  somewhere 
near  it.  Thus  much  we  may  safely  say  :  that  in  litera- 
ture, as  in  art  in  general,  as  in  all  the  avenues  of  life, 


NATURE    IN    ACTIVITV.  83 

that  which  is  artificial  and  purely  ornamental  may  be 
enjoyed  and  even  tolerated  only  when  it  does  not  so 
much  shine  with  its  own  beauty  as  lend  luster  to  that 
which  it  is  intended  to  beautify.  Every  ornament 
must  fit  naturally  in  or  appear  to  spring  from  what  it 
adorns.  You  may  not  with  impunity  force  a  figure  of 
speech  into  a  composition  ;  it  must  seem  to  belong 
there  by  natural  right.  There  will  be  the  same  differ- 
ence in  effect  that  there  is  between  the  paint  on  the 
society  woman's  cheek  and  the  color  in  the  school-girl's. 
You  could  not  take  Wordsworth's  ponderous  figure, 

A  liundred  hills  their  dusky  backs  upheaved, 

and  insert  it  in  one  of  Shelley's  delicate  descriptions. 
If  your  figures  help  to  convey  to  your  readers  your 
own  impressions,  if  your  heightened  language  actually 
arouses  in  them  the  emotions  you  desire  to  arouse,  well 
and  good.  But  be  chary  of  ornament  for  ornament's 
sake. 

THE   TORNADO. 

Soon  the  stars  are  hidden.  A  light  breeze  seems  rather  to 
tremble  and  hang  poised  than  to  blow.  The  rolling  clouds,  the 
dark  wildei'uess,  and  the  watery  waste  shine  out  every  moment 
in  the  wide  gleam  of  lightnings  still  hidden  by  the  wood,  and  are 
wrapped  again  i;i  ever-thickening  darkness  over  which  thunders 
roll  and  jar  and  answer  one  another  across  the  sky.  Then,  like 
a  charge  of  ten  tliousand  lancers,  come  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
their  onset  covered  by  all  the  artillery  of  heaven.  The  lightnings 
leap,  hiss,  and  blaze;  the  thunders  crack  aiul  roai-;  the  rain  lashes; 
the  waters  writhe;  the  wind  smites  and  howls.  For  five,  for  ten, 
for  twenty  minutes  —  for  an  hour,  for  two  hours  —  the  sky  and 
the  flood  are  never  for  an  instant  wholly  dark,  or  the  thunder  for 
one  moment  silent ;  but  while  the  universal  roar  sinks  and  swells, 


84  DESCRIPTION. 

and  the  wiilo,  vibrant  illumination  shows  all  things  in  ghostly 
half-concealment,  fresh  floods  of  lightning  every  moment  rend 
the  dim  curtain  and  Iraj)  forth  ;  the  glare  of  day  falls  upon  the 
swaying  Avood,  the  reeling,  bovi'ing,  tossing  willows,  the  seething 
waters,  the  whirling  rain,  and  in  the  midst  the  small  form  of  the 
distressed  steamer,  her  revolving  paddle-wheels  toiling  behind  to 
lighten  the  strain  upon  her  anchor  chains ;  then  all  are  di)n 
ghosts  again,  while  a  peal,  as  if  the  lieavens  were  rent,  rolls  off 
around  the  sky,  comes  back  in  shocks  and  throbs,  and  sinks  in 
a  long  roar  that  before  it  can  die  is  swallowed  up  in  the  next 
flash  and  peal.  —  George  AV.  Cable,  in  Bonavcnture  {Au  Lai-f/e, 
chapter  xviii.). 

CLEARING  WEATHER. 

It  was  a  warm  autumn  afternoon,  and  there  had  been  a  heavy 
rain.  The  sun  burst  suddenly  from  among  the  clouds  ;  and  the 
old  battle-ground,  sparkling  brilliantly  and  cheerfully  at  sight  of 
it  in  one  green  place,  flashed  a  responsive  welcome  there,  which 
spread  along  the  country  side  as  if  a  joyful  beacon  liad  been 
lighted  up,  and  answered  from  a  thousand  stations. 

IIow  beautiful  the  landscape  kindling  in  the  light,  and  that 
luxuriant  influence  passing  on  like  a  celestial  presence,  bright- 
ening everything  !  The  wood,  a  sombre  mass  before,  revealed 
its  varied  tints  of  yellow,  green,  brown,  red  :  its  different  forms 
of  trees,  with  rain-drops  glittering  on  their  leaves  and  twinkling 
as  they  fell.  The  verdant  meadow-land,  bright  and  glowing, 
seemed  as  if  it  had  been  blind  a  minute  since,  and  now  had 
found  a  sense  of  light  wherewith  to  look  up  at  the  shining  sky. 
Cornfields,  hedge-rows,  fences,  homesteads,  the  clustered  roofs, 
the  steeple  of  the  church,  the  stream,  the  watermill,  all  sprang 
out  of  the  gloomy  darkness,  smiling.  Birds  sang  sweetly,  flowers 
raised  their  drooping  heads,  fresh  scents  arose  from  the  invigor- 
ated ground ;  the  blue  expanse  above  extended  and  diffused 
itself  :  already  the  sun's  slanting  rays  pierced  mortally  the  sullen 
bank  of  cloud  that  lingered  in  its  flight ;  and  a  rainbow,  spirit 
of  all  the  colors  that  adorned  the  earth  and  sky,  spanned  the 
whole  arch  with  its  triumphant  glory.  —  Charles  Dickens,  in 
Christmas  Books  (The  Battle  of  Life,  part  iii.). 


WORKS    OF    ART.  ~  85 

The  following  descriptions  ma}'  1)e  read  with  profit  : 

Sunrise  in  Venice.     Poem  by  Joaquin  INIiller. 

Hi(jh  Tide  nn  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire.     Poem  by  Jean  Ingelow. 

The  Plood.  The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  book  vii,  chapter  v.  George 
Eliot. 

Storm  off  the  Coast  of  Scotland.  Mucleod  of  Dare,  last 
chapter.     William  Black. 


p]XERCTSE    XXXI. 
WORKS    OF    ART. 

Snhjects : 

A  Seaside  Villa.  An  Etruscan  Vase. 

St.  Andrew's  Church.  Michael    Angelo's    "  Last    Judg- 

The  Parthenon.  ment." 

Indian  Beadwork.  The  Laocoon  Group. 


The  difficulties  of  these  descriptions  will  be  greater 
of  course  in  proportion  as  the  object  represents  a 
higher  stage  of  development  in  its  own  field  of  art. 
There  is  a  vast  difference  between  a  Kafir  hut  and  a 
Gothic  cathecbal,  between  an  Indian  stone  image  and 
a  Praxitelean  statue.  The  Kafir  hut  may  be  pictur- 
es (pie  enough  in  its  way,  but  it  is  not  a  work  of  art 
and  is  not  intended  to  be  ;  it  is  built  for  its  utility. 
On  the  other  hand  a  cathedral  is  useful  in  its  way,  but 
it  is  preeminently  a  work  of  art.  In  form  and  color, 
in  light  and  shade,  in  mass  and  perspective,  it  is  de- 
signed throughout  to  appeal  to  the  cesthetic  sense  and 
to  work  on  the  emotions  of  the  human  heart.  As  a 
work  of  art  therefore  it  must  be  described.     We  liave 


86  DESCRIPTION. 

already  described  buildings  from  another  point  of  view. 
But  even  an  ordinary  dwelling-house  may  be  con- 
structed so  as  to  attract  the  eye  of  the  passer-by  as 
well  as  to  contribute  to  the  comfort  of  those  Avho  live 
in  it.  Thus  we  have  two  radically  different  points  of 
view.  In  the  present  exercise  the  point  of  view  is 
that  of  a  pei"son  who  has  an  eye  for  artistic  effects. 

Note  that  the  point  of  view  is  not  said  to  be  that 
of  the  student  of  the  beautiful  or  the  connoisseur  in 
art.  Tlie  work  before  you  is  still  description  and  not 
criticism,  which  latter  involves  comparisons  and  the 
passing  of  individual  judgment.  Try  to  tell  what 
you  can  plainly  see,  and  not  all  that  your  imagination 
may  read  into  the  object,  nor  all  that  you  think  shoidd 
be  there  and  is  not.  Have  the  object  before  you  if 
possible.  It  is  not  safe  to  trust  to  memory.  Few 
paintere  or  sculptors  will  venture  far  without  their 
models.     You  are  a  word-painter  now. 

There  are  other  fields  of  art  in  which  the  artist 
appeals  to  other  senses  than  the  sight.  But  descrip- 
tion here  becomes  so  extremely  difficult  that  it  is 
deemed  best  to  omit  it.  It  Avould  indeed  be  rash, 
unless  one  Avere  exceptionally  well  equipped,  to  at- 
tempt to  describe  an  organ  fugue  or  an  orchestral 
symphony. 

EXERCISE    XXXII. 

DESCRIP'J'IOX   OF    TERSONS. 

Take  as  a  subject  one  of  your  friends,  or  perhaps 
better  some  one  whom  you  have  seen  only  once  or 
twice,  and  describe  him  (or  her)  as  he  would  appear  to 


DESCRIPTION    OF    PERSONS.  87 

a  peraon  who  met  him  for  the  first  time.  This  means, 
of  course,  that  the  description  shall  be  one  almost  en- 
tirely of  externals,  —  of  those  qualities,  essential  or 
adventitious,  which  manifest  themselves  at  once  to  the 
senses.  Character  will  not  pla}'  any  part  in  this  except 
so  far  as  it  can  be  inferred  from  such  features  as  eyes, 
complexion,  gait,  and  even  manner  of  dress.  If  the 
description  is  of  some  one  who  is  well  known  to  your 
readers  or  hearers,  try  to  make  it  so  accurate  and  life- 
like that  they  will  recognize  the  subject  at  once. 

Here  again  let  us  insist  upon  the  necessity  of  observ- 
ing a  due  proportion  and  relation  of  parts.  Do  not 
continually  leap  from  one  detail  to  another  without  any 
apparent  connection  between  the  two,  whether  that 
connection  be  expressed  or  understood.  Now  and  then 
it  may  be  necessary  to  do  this.  In  any  composition  of 
length  there  must  be  some  gaps  in  the  train  of  thought 
wider  than  others  ;  and  paragraph  division  is  the  exter- 
nal sign  of  this.  But  such  gaps  must  not  occur  at 
every  sentence,  and  even  where  they  do  occur  let  them 
be  as  narrow  as  possible. 

The  following  description  is  taken  from  Victor  Hugo's 
Les  Miff^rables,  Part  I,  Book  II,  Chapter  I.  The  point 
of  view  is  that  of  a  chance  observer.  Notice  how  the 
general  appearance  of  wretchedness  is  heightened  by 
dwelling  on  the  details  of  clothing. 

One  day  early  in  the  month  of  October,  1815,  about  an  hour 

before  sunset,  a  man  traveling  afoot  entered  the  town  of  D . 

The  few  inhabitants  who  at  this  moment  chanced  to  be  at  their 
windows  or  on  the  doorsteps  of  their  houses,  looked  at  this  traveler 
with  a  vague  sense  of  lyieasiness.  One  would  not  often  meet  a 
wayfarer  more  wretched  in  appearance.  He  was  a  man  of  medium 
height,  thickset  and  sturdy,  and  in  the  full  vigor  of  life.    He  might 


88  DESCKIPTION. 

be  forty-six  or  forty-eight  years  of  age.  A  cap  with  a  leather 
tip  well  pulled  down  partly  concealed  his  face  wliicli  was  bronzed 
by  the  sun  and  was  dripping  with  sweat.  His  sliirt,  of  some 
coarse  yellow  stuff,  fastened  at  the  throat  by  a  little  silver  anchor, 
fell  opiMi  sunicicnily  to  give  a  glimpsi^  of  a  shaggy  breast.  He 
wore  a  twisted  cravat,  shabby  breeches  of  blue  ticking,  white  at 
one  knee,  worn  through  at  the  other,  and  an  old  tattered  gray 
blouse,  pieced  at  one  of  the  elbows  with  a  patch  of  green  cloth 
sewed  on  with  jjack-t bread.  On  his  back  he  carried  a  well  filled 
knapsack,  tiglitly  Imcklcd  and  ipiite  new  ;  in  his  hand  an  enor- 
mous knotted  stick.  His  stockingless  feet  were  encased  in  shoes 
shod  with  iron.  His  head  was  shaved,  his  beard  long.  ^,The 
perspiration,  the  heat,  the  journey  on  foot,  the  dust,  gave  to  his 
wliole  person  an  inexpressible  air  of  misery  and  squalor. 

Com})aro  with  the  above  the  following  from  Balzac's 
Pere  Goriot^  and  note  that  here  more  essential  attributes 
are  dwelt  upon  as  indicative  of  the  girl's  spiritual 
environment. 

Though  Mademoiselle  Victorine  ¥wiilafar  was  of  a  sickly  paleness 
like  a  girl  in  feeble  health,  and  though  this  iialeness,  joined  to  an 
habitual  expression  of  sadness  and  self-restraint,  linked  her  with 
the  general  misery  which  formed  the  background  of  the  life  about 
her,  yet  her  face  was  not  an  old  face,  and  her  movements  and 
her  voice  were  young  and  sprightly.  She  seemed  like  a  sickly 
shrub  transplanted  into  uncongenial  soil.  Her  fair  complexion, 
her  auburn  hair,  her  too-slender  figure,  gave  her  the  grace  that 
modern  critics  find  in  the  art  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Her  eyes, 
which  were  gray  with  a  radiation  of  dark  streaks,  expressed  the 
sweetness  and  resignation  of  a  Christian.  Pier  dress  was  simple 
and  cheap,  but  it  revealed  a  youthful  form.  She  was  pretty  by 
juxtaposition.  Had  she  been  happy  she  might  have  been  lovely  ; 
for  happiness  lends  poetic  charm  to  women,  and  dress  adorns  them 
like  a  delicate  tint  of  rouge.  If  the  pleasures  of  a  ball  had  called 
out  the  rose-tints  on  her  jiallid  face  ;  if  the  comforts  and  elegan- 
cies of  life  had  filled  out  and  remodeled  her  cheeks,  already,  alas, 
too  hollow;  if  love  had  ever  brightened  her  sad  eyes;  —  then 


v., 


CHARACTER    DESCRIPTIOX.  —  REAL.  89 

Victorine  might  have  held  lier  own  among  the  fairest  of  her  sex 
and  age.  She  needed  two  things,  —  two  things  which  are  the 
second  bii'th  of  women,  —  the  pretty  trifles  of  her  sex,  and  the  shy 
delight  of  love-letters. 


EXERCISE    XXXIII. 
CIIAKACTER   DESCRIPTION.  —  REAL. 

Subjects : 

One  of  My  Friends.  Jack  :  Poet  and  Optimist. 

A  Sixteen  Year  Old  Cynic.  An  Eccentric  Character. 

A  Ministering  Angel. 


For  this  work  you  should  know  your  subject  well. 
The  description  of  external  and  physical  features  is  not 
intended  to  l)e  excluded  at  all.  It  was  said  in  the  last 
exercise  that  these  things  may  give  a  clue  to  the  real 
character,  and  when  you  assume  to  know  that  character 
it  will  often  be  the  happiest  kind  of  description  merely 
to  suggest  it  by  these  features.  The  reader,  knowing 
your  purpose  in  introducing  them,  will  trust  to  your 
more  intimate  knowledge  and  so  not  be  afraid  of  mis- 
interpreting them.  The  characters  described  are  to  be 
real,  that  is,  actually  existing,  with  all  their  natural 
virtues  and  defects,  though  of  course  when  3'ou  are 
dealing  with  a  well-known  person,  even  in  a  school 
essay,  nothing  can  excuse  the  failure  on  your  part  to 
exercise  both  charity  and  courtesy. 

The  last  subject  in  the  list  above  has  been  found  an 
excellent  one,  and  many  interesting  essays  are  recalled 
with  such   titles   as    "The  Village    Factotum,"    "The 


90  DESCRIPTION. 

riiilosoi)licr  of  Pine  Ridge,"  "Undo  Billy/'  "Old 
January,"  "Ben  the  Ubiquitous,"  "Garesche,  Ord." 
Nearly  every  community  can  boast  of  one  or  more  of 
those  characters  who,  for  some  striking  peculiarity  or 
unusual  originality  in  their  natures,  are  l)randed  as  ec- 
centric. The  term  need  not  convey  reproach  —  it  is  by 
no  means  always  invidious.  It  simply  means  that  these 
people,  in  their  personal  a^jpearance  or  in  their  habits 
of  life,  depart  unusually  far  from  the  standards  whicli 
the  average  man  recognizes.  The  greatest  genius  may 
do  that. 

Notice  in  the  following  how  ingeniously  the  point  of 
view  is  taken  and  how  impressive  the  preliminary 
description  of  outward  appearance  makes  tlie  sudden 
revelation  of  the  real  man.  A  subject  of  this  kind  must 
be  treated  somewhat  like  those  of  the  preceding  exer- 
cise, for  such  a  character  cannot,  from  its  very  nature, 
be  so  intimately  known  to  you  as  that  of  your  bosom 
friend. 

THE  HERMIT  IN  THE  WILLOWS. 

I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  there  is  connected  with  the 
science  of  frog-catching  so  essentially  different  from  all  other 
sciences,  and  so  very  peculiar  that  only  eccentric  characters  are 
able  to  pursue  this  profession  with  marked  siiccess.  Can  it  be 
that  frogs  are  themselves  eccentric,  and  so,  since  "  not  to  sympa- 
thize is  not  to  understand,"  only  "  eccentrics  "  have  the  power  to 
comprehend  the  laws  which  govern  them  so  as  to  be  ever  master 
of  their  situation?  Whatever  it  is  — and  it  is  almost  vain  to 
attempt  to  solve  the  mystery  —  the  fact  remains  that  the  afore- 
mentioned class  of  individuals  does  excel  in  the  aforementioned 
vocation,  and  furthermore,  veiy  few  who  do  not  belong  to  that 
class  ever  attempt  to  become  professors  of  that  science. 

Happening  to  live  in  a  country  where  frogs  are  as  plentiful  as 
flies  are  elsewhere,  I  have  often  had  the  opportunity  of  meeting 


CHARACTER    DESCRIPTION. REAL.  91 

some  of  the  peculiar  personages  who  have  made  the  lucrative  pro- 
fession of  frog-catching  their  calling  in  life.  Xor  were  the  feelings 
awakened  by  these  chance  meetings  altogether  those  of  pleasure, 
for,  so  far  as  outward  appearances  were  concerned,  these  oddities 
ranged  all  the  way  from  the  idiot  to  the  madman.  Oh,  there  was 
a  variety  of  them  ;  representatives  of  nearly  all  nationalities,  and, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  even  some  of  the  gentler  sex  were  numbered 
among  them.  But  by  far  the  most  strikingly  curious  of  them  all 
is  "the  old  hermit  in  the  willows,"  as  he  is  generally  called  ;  for 
no  one  knows  his  name. 

Nobody  who  has  ever  seen  the  little  log  hut  situated  at  the  very 
bottom  of  the  ravine  which  opens  into  the  south  end  of  Lake 
IMerced,  and  several  miles  from  any  other  habitation  except  of 
beast  or  bird,  would  doubt  for  a  moment  that  no  ordinaiy  person 
dwelt  within.  Perched  upon  a  slightly  elevated  island,  yet  crouch- 
ing so  as  to  avoid  coining  in  contact  with  the  branches  of  the  low- 
growing  willows  that  surround  and  almost  entirely  conceal  it, 
this  dingy  gray,  moss-covered  cabin,  with  its  one  length  of  rusty 
stove-pipe  for  a  chimney,  is  a  picture  of  utter  solitariness. 

If  you  are  awestruck  by  the  aspect  of  the  house,  how  can  you 
describe  the  feeling  that  takes  possession  of  you  when  you  see  its 
sole  occupant  ?  A  man  of  medium  stature,  although  bent  with 
age  and  labor,  he  would  not  present  an  altogether  mean  appear- 
ance if  respectably  dressed.  But  so  few  people  have  ever  seen 
him  ;  and  in  his  customary  attire  he  is  a  picture  at  once  ludicrous 
and  pathetic.  Coming  upon  him  unawares  in  his  lonely  haunt, 
you  would  most  likely  find  his  costume  to  consist  of  a  pair  of 
rusty-brown  pantaloons,  with  a  huge  patch  of  red  flannel  on  one 
knee  and  one  of  blue  drilling  on  the  other  ;  a  red  and  black 
checked  flannel  shirt,  patched  with  calico  of  various  colors  ;  a 
gigantic  rul)ber  boot  on  one  foot  and  a  low  rubber  overshoe  on 
the  other  ;  and  i>erhaps  a  hat  (though  he  rarely  wears  such  a  thing) 
which,  judging  from  the  number  of  holes  in  its  crown  and  broad 
Iniiu,  might  at  some  time  previous  to  the  invention  of  modern 
targets  have  been  used  as  a  substitute  for  such.  His  entire  make- 
up, so  to  .speak,  strikes  you  as  ridiculous,  and  you  laugh  aloud, 
thereby  attracting  his  attention.  He  turns  his  face  toward  you 
and  you  stop  so  suddenly  in  your  laughter  that  you  almost  choke. 


92  DESCRIPTION. 

rerhaps  soi  net  hint;'  very  dil't'orent  from  suppressed  laughter  helps 
to  produce  that  choking  sensation,  for  there  is  something  strangely 
pathetic  in  the  disappointed  gaze  of  tlie  eyes  tliat  meet  yours. 
The  grizzly  beard  and  long,  matted  hair,  both  of  a  dirty  gray, 
cannot  conceal  the  fine  intelligence  of  the  face  ;  the  high,  broad 
loj-ejiead  and  fine  blue-gray  eyes  are  still  there  to  tell  their  tale, 
and  now  and  then  you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  mouth  that  is 
pmud  and  sensitive,  yet  full  of  generosity  and  affection. 

Can  it  be  ?  Can  it  be  that  this  hermit  is  proud,  sensitive,  gener- 
ous, affectionate?  Everything  about  his  clothing  and  his  mean 
liabitation  seems  to  say  he  is  not.  You  are  curious  ;  you  would 
sjjcak  to  him  if  you  dared.  You  own  to  yourself  that  you  are  a 
little  afraid  of  him.  Yet  your  dog  trots  ipiietly  to  his  side  and 
pokes  her  nose  up  into  his  face.  She  is  not  thrust  aside,  but  gently 
l)atted.  You  are  encouraged,  and  approaching,  address  him.  —  Is 
he  fond  of  dogs  ?  —  Yes,  he  is.  —  Why  does  he  not  kee])  one  ?  —  It 
costs  too  much.  —  You  drift  from  one  subject  to  another,  but  you 
find  him  i>repared  to  discuss  all  topics.  You  are  beginning  to 
think  liini  a  schoh\r,  wIkmi  two  boys  come  crasliing  through  the 
willow  branches,  and  before  long  the  old  man  is  solving  geo- 
n'letrical  jiroblems  for  them  or  translating  long  passages  into  Latin. 

Feeling  that  you  are  now  intruding,  you  depart  and  endeavor 
to  gather  some  information  about  tlie  old  hermit.  From  no  one, 
however,  can  you  learn  more  than  that  he  is  j)oor,  lives  in  the 
"willows  alone,  and  supports  himself  by  catching  frogs  and  selling 
them  in  the  city.  lie  never  rides  either  to  or  from  the  city,  and 
never  buys  anything  but  salt  and  flour,  and  occasionally  gunpowder 
and  shot.  He  never  speaks  unless  spoken  to,  and  then  rarely  or 
never  of  himself.  Surely  this  is  an  "  eccentric,"  yet  you  respect 
him,  and  perhaps  even  Avish  he  were  not.  For  a  long  time,  per- 
haps for  years  after,  you  will  never  hear  of  the  willows  without 
hearing  of  the  old  hermit  and  seeing  his  great  blue  eyes  with 
their  sad,  disappointed  gaze.  j^_  j^j_  ^ 


CHARACTER    DESCRIPTION.  —  IDEAL.  93 

EXERCISE    XXXTV. 

CHARACTER   DESCRTPTTOX.  --  IDEAL. 

Siihjccts : 
My  Hero.  A  Dream  Incarnate. 

"A  Knight  of  the  Nineteenth  Century."    The  Character  o#  Jesus. 
"  A  Perfect  Woman,  Xoblv  Planne(i." 


The  painter  strives  to  put  on  canvas,  the  sculptor 
strives  to  fashion  out  of  marble,  his  ideal.  Why  should 
not  the  literary  artist  strive  to  do  the  same  thing  with 
his  pen?  No  one  of  them  will  get  nearer  to  the  heart 
and  soul  of  another  person,  real  or  ideal,  than  their 
outward  manifestations.  But  note  that  while  the 
painter  and  sculptor  are  limited  to  color  and  form,  the 
literary  artist  has  both  these  and  other  resources  at  his 
command.  Words  and  actions  respond  more  constantly 
and  quickly  to  the  impulses  within,  and  are  therefore 
the  more  reliable  indications  of  the  character  behind 
them.  These  words  and  actions  the  writer  may  use 
freely. 

Now  ideals  are  not  made  of  nothino'.  The  Venus  of 
j\Iilo  is  only  a  combination  of  the  most  perfect  features 
whicli  the  sculptor  found  in  a  dozen  or  a  hundred 
human  beings.  It  is  a  sort  of  composite  photograph 
with  all  the  distinctness  of  a  simple  one,  because  instead 
of  all  the  features  of  all  the  models  being  taken,  only 
certain  ones  are  taken  from  each.  It  is  evident  that 
one  man's  ideal  may  sometimes  be  very  nearly  realized 
in  a  single  person,  though  it  is  perhaps  too  nutch  to 


1)4  DESCRIPTION. 

hope  from  nature,  human  or  otherwise,  that  it  may  be 
entirely  so. 

You  must  have  formed  an  ideal  of  what  a  great  and 
good  character  should  be.  If  not,  it  will  do  no  harm 
to  attempt  to  form  one  now.  Physical  features  need 
not  be  disregarded  here  any  more  than  in  the  last 
exercise,  ihough  naturally  they  will  exact  a  minor 
share  of  your  attention. 

Do  not  leave  the  character  shadowy  merely  because 
it  is  ideal.  Assume  that  it  exists  ;  give  it  a  name  and 
a  vocation  if  you  like  ;  make  a  living  man  or  woman 
of  it,  and  then  treat  that  man  or  woman  as  if  you  knew 
him  or  her  intimately.  Do  not  say  he  would  have  such 
and  such  qualities- — say  explicitly  that  he  has  them. 
Nothing  detracts  from  interest  so  much  as  distant, 
indirect  treatment. 


EXERCISE    XXXV.     . 
IMAGINATIVE   DESCRIPTION. 

Subjects : 

The  Man  witli  the  Golden  Aim.  The  Eighth  Voyage  of  Sinbad 

Santa  Claus  at  Home.  the  Sailor. 

In  the  Land  of  the  Fairies.  Through  the  Gate  of  Dreams. 

An  Earthly  Paradise.  A  Chateau  en  Espagne. 

A  Child's  Idea  of  Heaven. 


In  this  exercise  you  will  have  perfect  liberty  to  make 
use  of  all  the  descriptive  materials  at  your  command. 
One  suggestion  only  :  Remember  still  that  the  imagi- 
nation can  be  said  to  create  only  in  a  certain  sense  —  it 
can  construct  and  combine.     It  puts  the  head  and  arms 


IMAGINATIVE   DESCRIPTION.  95 

of  a  man  on  the  body  of  a  horse  and  we  have  a  centaur; 
it  makes  a  simihir  combination  of  a  woman  and  a  fish 
and  we  have  a  mermaid.  But  when  these  combinations 
do  such  violence  to  all  our  preconceived  ideas  of 
congruity  as  to  take  on  the  cliaracter  of  monstrosities, 
not  every  taste  will  tolerate  them.  There  is  plenty  of 
scope  for  the  imagination  witliout  going  so  far.  You 
may  picture  to  yourself  a  spot  more  purely  Arcadian 
than  any  Arcadia  on  earth  and  yet  have  in  it  nothing 
unnatural.  You  may  conceive  of  beings  more  beauti- 
ful, more  noble,  more  lovable,  than  any  you  have  ever 
known,  without  in  the  least  transcending  the  bounds  of 
possibility. 

Imaginative  work  j)layed  a  great  jiart  in  the  beginnings 
of  literature  :  witness  the  Somj  of  Solomon^  Hesiod's 
Theogony^  the  Nihelungenlied.  It  plays  a  large  part  yet 
in  the  literary  reading  of  children  :  witness  the  Arabian 
Nights^  the  Fairy  Tales  of  Perrault,  the  Grimm  Ijrothers, 
and  Andersen,  and  the  folk-lore  of  any  people.  Read 
George  Macdonald's  At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wi7id, 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps's  Gates  Ajar  and  Beyond  the 
Gates.  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  loved  to  dwell  in  these 
realms  of  the  imagination,  as  many  of  his  shorter  tales 
show;  read  Tlie  Hall  of  Fantasy  in  Mosses  from  an  Old 
Manse.  And  Jules  Verne,  allowing  his  imagination  to 
run  riot  in  the  field  of  modern  science,  has  given  us  a 
score  of  very  readable  and  even  instructive  books,  of 
which  A  Trip  to  the  Moon  is  a  fair  sample. 

Write  a  fairy  story,  or  an  addition  to  the  Arabian 
Nights'  Tales.  For  anyone  of  a  lively  imagination  this 
will  prove  a  real  pastime  as  well  as  means  of  literary 
culture. 


1% 


SECTION    III.  —  NARRATION    AND 
DESCRIPTIOX    COMBINED. 


EXERCISE    XXXVr. 

SOCIAL    GATIIEIMXGS,    ETC. 

Sid>jrefs  : 

An  Old-time  Husking  Bee.     The  Bachelor  Club's  Annual  Ball. 
Nellie's  Birthday  Party.  A  Theatre  Party. 

Our  Sunday  Sehoiil  Picnic. 


We  shall  no  longer  attemjjt  to  keep  narration  and 
description  apart.  As  a  matter  of  fact  very  few  pro- 
ductions are  purely  the  one  or  purely  the  other ;  we 
have  seen  in  the  preceding  exercises  how  naturally  and 
almost  inevitably  we  mingle  them.  On  the  other  hand 
very  few  productions  })artalve  of  the  characteristics  of 
both  narration  and  description  in  an  e({ual  degree. 
Taking  advantage  of  this  fact  we  have  in  the  two  fore- 
going sections  pretty  well  covered  the  whole  ground. 
There  remain  however  a  few  classes  of  sul)jects  into 
which  both  kinds  of  composition  enter  with  nearly 
equal  prominence.  But  even  here  you  will  in  all  prob- 
ability find,  when  j-ou  have  finished  your  productions, 
that  they  are  still  essentially  narrative  or  essentially 
descri[)tive.      That    result    will   \)v    due    to   yourself  — 


98         NARRATION    AND    DESCRIPTION    COMBINED. 

to  tlie  point  of  view  .you  have  chosen  to  take,  or  to 
your  predilection  for  a  particular  style  of  treatment. 
Remember  liowever  that  the  condition  is  not  imposed  ; 
you  have  entire  freedom  and  should  endeavor  to  make 
use  of  it. 

In  the  ju-esent  exercise  wc;  have  scenes  to  l)e  de- 
picted, with  little  or  no  real  plot  to  be  unfolded.  Yet 
they  are  scenes  in  which  there  is  much  action  and  in 
which  moreover  you  are  supposed  to  have  been  one  of 
the  actors.  This  is  somewhat  different  from  standing 
passively  by  and  watching  the  progress  of  events. 
Here  you  contribute  your  share  toward  the  sum  of 
accomplishment. 

The  main  tendency  in  treating  such  subjects  as  those 
given  above  will  prol)ably  be  toward  description. 
Therefore  restrain  it  somewhat,  or  deflect  it.  Put  all 
the  life  and  action  into  the  scenes  that  you  can.  Make 
the  characters  walk  and  talk,  smile  and  frown,  lauo-h 
and  cry  for  us.  If  there  is  comedy  let  it  come  out,  if 
there  is  tragedy  let  it  be  revealed.  Read  the  old  fairy 
tale  of  Cinderella;  The  Christmas  Dinner  in  Irvino-'s 
Sketch-Booh;  The  Archery  Tournament  in  Cupid's 
Arrows,  Rudyard  Kipling's  Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills. 


EXERCISE   XXXVII. 

PERSONAL    ADVENTURES. 

Subjects  : 
A  Narrow  Escape.  On  a  Runaway  Car. 

A  Night  in  a  Cemetery.  The  Ghost  of  Smith's  Hollow. 

Our  Burglar.  My  First  Bear  Hunt. 

Cauglit  in  a  Squall.  Ascent  in  a  Balloon. 


PERSONAL   ADVENTUKES.  99 

The  tenclenc}'  here  will  be  to  lay  stress  on  the  narra- 
tive portions.  But  the  scene  of  the  adventure  must  be 
prepared,  the  circumstances  detailed,  the  actors  por- 
trayed ;  and  all  of  this  involves  description.  The  two 
must  be  judiciously  interwoven.  It  is  most  natural  to 
begin  with  description,  and  a  little  observation  will 
show  that  the  majority  of  tales  do  so  begin.  On  the 
other  hand  a  bit  of  narration  at  the  first  may  sometimes 
be  of  advantage  ;  it  will  be  more  likely  to  catch  and 
hold  the  reader's  attention  and  make  him  willing  to 
follow  through  the  necessary  description  Avliich  is  then 
introduced  later.  Let  it  not  be  introduced  too  late, 
however.  The  insertion  of  even  the  briefest  description 
at  a  point  where  the  interest  is  thoroughly  aroused  will 
be  resented  by  the  reader.  Let  such  passages  come  at 
the  natural  pauses  or  lulls  in  the  action. 

As  to  the  action  itself,  let  it  be  developed  with  the 
utmost  naturalness.  One  event  grows  out  of  another 
in  fact ;  it  should  seem  to  do  so  likewise  in  the  recital. 
You  have  heard  people  attempt  to  tell  a  story  who 
appear  to  lack  what  we  may  call  a  sense  for  sequence. 
They  are  constantly  getting  "ahead  of  themselves,"  that 
is,  ahead  of  their  story ;  and  then  they  have  to  retrace 
their  steps  and  the  story  loses  its  charm.  The  fault  is 
an  inherent  one  and  it  will  take  close  attention  and 
practice  to  eradicate  it.  But  in  writing  there  is  no 
excuse  for  it,  for  the  writer  has  time  to  consider  the 
sequence  of  events. 

Draw  upon  your  own  experience  for  this  adventure, 
or,  if  the  uneventfulness  of  your  life  a])solutely  con- 
strains you,  upon  your  imagination.  Perhaps  one  of 
the  incidents  which  you  have  recorded  in  the  early  part 


1')()      NAi;i;.\ri()N    am>   i>i:sri;i  I'lmx   ('(imhined. 

of  tliis  work  may  recur  to  you  as  an  appropriate  subject. 
If  so.  expand  it  to  the  proportions  of  a  regular  story  or 
tale.  It  may  have  consisted  of  a  single  })aragraph  then  ; 
make  eight  or  ten  of  it  now.  Enter  into  details  of 
scenes  and  characters  and  make  them  contribute  as  much 
as  possible  to  the  realism  of  the  events. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  give  references  to  models 
of  this  kind  of  composition.  Papers  like  the  YoutJis 
Companion  contain  many  such  stories,  and  if  you  care 
for  examples  on  a  larger  scale  go  to  the  tales  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  Jane  Porter,  J.  Fenimore  Cooper,  and 
others. 

In  the  following  sketch  the  writer  was  more  a  witness 
of  the  action  than  a  participator  in  it,  and  therefore 
the  language,  while  dealing  unquestionably  with  good 
narrative  material,  is  essentially  descriptive,  showing 
again  how  inseparable  the  two  characteristics  often  are. 

mnXGTXG    A    SHAKK    AROART). 

It  is  only  on  the  days  of  calm  in  the  doldrums,  when  passengers 
are  moping  and  sailors  are  loafing,  that  a  landsman  gets  a  chance 
to  learn  the  seaman's  hatred  of  sharks  and  to  see  what  pleasiu'e 
the  capture  of  one  gives  him. 

One  such  a  day  a  monster  about  eleven  feet  long  was  seen 
ploughing  astern.  Tii  a  few  minutes  a  stout  hook,  baited  with  a 
jiuik  of  fat  pork,  was  tlu'own  overl)o{ird.  The  fish  made  for  it 
immediately  and  gulped  it  dcnvn  without  examination.  Then 
came  a  tug  of  war.  The  cond)ined  strength  of  half  a  dozen  men 
exerted  on  the  tackle  wliicli  had  been  made  fast  to  tlie  end  of  the 
line,  Avas  just  enough  to  budge  the  shark  when  in  the  water  ;  but 
when  once  his  head  Avas  above  the  surface  his  power  was  gone,  and 
very  soon  we  saw  him  dangling  from  the  stern,  his  tail  just  touch- 
ing the  water.  Then  the  purpose  of  the  short  chain  fastened  to 
the  hook  became  apparent :  as  he  swung  there,  his  grinding  rows 


EXCURSIONS,    TRAVELS.  101 

of  teeth  would  have  cut  through  a  liiif  in  a  moment  and  lie  would 
have  dropped  in  the  Avater  free,  hut  as  it  was,  the  only  effect  was 
a  horrid  scratching  noise  that  sent  tln-ougli  most  of  us  a  shiver  of 
fear. 

By  means  of  a  running  loop  passed  over  his  head  and  drawn 
tight  just  aluive  the  tail,  he  was  pulled  up  until  he  Avas  level  with 
the  gunnel.  TIumi  with  tlie  aid  of  a  guy  rope  he  was  liavded 
aboard  and  landed  on  deck,  thrashing  fiercely  with  liis  tail  and 
snapping  ferociously.  His  eyes  had  to  be  put  out  first,  for  while 
he  could  see  it  was  impossible  to  approach  him  ;  A\'lien  he  was 
blind,  however,  it  was  an  easy  matter  for  one  of  the  sailors  to 
creep  cautiously  up  to  him  and  chop  off  his  tail,  thus  rendering 
him  powerless  to  do  any  damage. 

jSTow  that  he  was  comparatively  quiet  it  was  no  great  task  to 
despatch  him.  All  had  a  hand  in  the  disemboweling,  laughing 
triumphantly  and  joking  over  the  possibility  of  finding  a  gold 
Avatch  or  other  clue  to  liis  former  life  in  the  capacious  stomach. 
One  sliced  the  liver  and  threw  it  into  tlie  pig-sty,  Avlule  another 
cut  out  the  still  beating  heart  and  threw  it  to  the  dog  ;  and  yet, 
with  eyes  out,  tail  off,  disemboweled,  with  the  pigs  digesting  his 
liver  and  the  dog  devouring  his  heart,  he  still  spluttered  and 
gasped,  refusing  to  die. 

Soon  however  all  the  flesh  was  cut  away  and  thrown  overboard, 
the  only  things  saved  being  the  liackl)one,  which  makes  a  beauti- 
ful walking-stick  the  sailors  say,  and  the  rows  of  teeth,  which 
passed  into  the  hands  of  some  of  the  ladies  and  which  were  after- 
wards seen  in  a  little  girl's  possession  in  the  shape  of  a  necklace. 

R.  L.   D. 

EXERCISE    XXXVIII. 
EXCURSIONS,    TRAVELS. 

Our  Expedition  to  Fall  Creek.  From  Detroit  to  Chicago  on  a 
Camping  on  flu;  Bluff.  Bicycle. 

Through  Colorado  Canon.  Climbing  the  Matterhorn. 

An  Excursion  to  Niagara  Falls.  An  Afternoon  Outing. 


102       NAUIlATloN    AM)    DESCUll'TlON    COiMIUXED. 

Countless  hooks  of  travel  have  heen  written  and 
jjuhlished,  thong-h  few  of  tlu'ni  liave  met  with  large 
sales  and  fewer  still  have  found  a  place  among  works 
of  recognized  literary  merit.  The  explanation  lies  in 
the  fact  that  this  is  the  most  tempting  field  of  letters 
because  ai)parently  the  easiest.  Every  tyro  who  has 
been  away  from  home  awliile  thinks  he  has  materials 
for  a  book.  ]?ut  matter  without  rational  form  and 
becoming  dress  is  not  literature.  Besides,  ninety-nine 
times  out  of  a  hundred  the  tyro  lias  no  materials  of 
worth.  lie  has  seen  only  wliat  is  on  the  surface,  what 
everybody  else  can  see  for  himself,  and  what  therefore 
everybody  else  does  not  want  to  read  about. 

One  thing  which  will  warrant  the  writing  of  books 
of  this  class  is  the  fact  that  one  has  exj)lored  a  region 
of  the  earth  or  studied  conditions  of  life  little  known 
and  not  accessible  to  the  world  at  large.  When  a 
Livingstone  or  a  Stanley  has  penetrated  to  the  heart 
of  the  African  continent,  when  a  Kane  has  made  an 
expedition  into  the  Arctic  seas,  when  a  Kennan  has 
explored  the  most  hidden  horrors  of  life  in  Russia  and 
Siberia,  the  public  read  with  avidity  such  books  as 
Through  the  Bark  Continent.,  Arctic  Explorations^  and 
Siberia  and  the  Exile  System.  Or  when  a  naturalist 
travels  over  any  jDortion  of  the  earth  with  a  keen  eye 
and  a  quick  ear  for  the  marvels  and  mysteries  of 
nature,  we  read  with  equal  delight  and  profit  an 
Alexander  von  Humboldt's  Kosmos  and  an  Agassiz's 
Journey  in  Brazil.  Yet  again,  when  a  man  can  go 
among  familiar  scenes  and  well-known  peoples,  and 
from  the  materials  always  to  be  found  there  as  well 
as  anywhere  can   construct  works  of  genuine  literary 


EXCURSIONS,    TRAVELS.  103 

charm  and  merit,  we  shall  always  be  ready  to  welcome 
them.  Such  books  are  Bayard  Taylor's  Views  Afoot 
and  Lono-fellow's  Outre-Mer. 

O 

Let  these  facts  serve  as  hints  to  guide  us  in  our 
writing  now.  For  though  we  are  working  here  on  a 
smaller  scale,  the  problem  before  us  is  practically  the 
same  —  to  produce  work  which  shall  be  valuable  for 
the  facts  it  contains,  or  interesting  for  the  novelty  of 
those  facts,  for  the  original  light  in  which  they  are 
exhibited,  or  for  the  literary  charm  with  which  they 
are  invested.  It  is  certainly  well  worth  while  to  keep 
a  record  of  one's  wanderings,  however  limited  they 
may  be,  if  he  can  succeed  in  producing  such  word- 
pastels  as  the  writer  of  the  following  has  done. 

A  LEAF   FROM   MY   DIARY. 

Malosand,  Sweden,  July  15,  1886.-— The  candle  flares  so  that 
I  can  hardly  write,  yet  it  is  too  warm  to  close  the  windows.  The 
stars  are  twinkling  outside  in  all  their  glory  and  the  little 
Swedish  village  lies  asleep  at  my  feet.  AVe  had  such  a  lovely 
walk  this  evening,  my  sister  and  I.  It  was  one  of  those  long  beau- 
tiful summer  evenings  that  are  found  only  in  northern  countries. 

In  our  stroll  we  passed  by  the  village  square.  It  is  surrounded 
by  low  w^ooden  buildings,  and  in  it  was  a  circus.  This  was  the 
center  of  attraction  for  a  number  of  peasant  children  who  were 
gaping  at  it  in  wonder  and  amazement.  The  whole  scene  was 
so  like  an  American  town  and  yet  so  diiferent  that  it  made  me 
homesick.  We  walked  on  to  a  little  inn  and  there  indulged  in 
some  tea  and  cake,  and  were  sui'prised  to  find  the  total  bill  to  be 
only  six  cents. 

It  was  dark  when  we  again  emerged  into  the  open  air,  and 
nothing  broke  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  night  save  the  faint 
thump,  thump  of  the  bass  drum  coming  over  the  meadow  from 
the  distant  circus.  We  paused  a  moment  to  take  in  the  tran- 
quillity of  the  scene  and  then  silently  retraced  our  steps. 

J.  M.  L. 


104       NARRATION   AND    DESCRIPTION    COMBINED. 

EXERCISE    XXXIX. 

SCENES   FROM   LIFE. 

Subjects : 

('oniiiR'iicement  Day.  Around  the  Hotel  Stove. 

A  Fire  in  Fourth  Ward.  In  an  East  Side  Tenement  House. 

Slioppiug  in  Jonesville.  An  Hour  on  'Cluuige. 

A  Visit  to  Chinatown.  The  Farm  at  Five  o'Clock  in  tlie 

An  Auction.  Morning. 

A  Political  Mass  Meeting.  A  Boarding  School  Scene. 


Here  is  an  inexhaustible  field.  It  is  preeminently 
the  field  of  the  dramatist,  but  that  does  not  mean  that 
all  who  work  in  it  must  be  what  are  commonly  known 
as  dramatists.  Much  is  dramatic  in  essence  that  is  not 
so  in  form.  Many  of  our  best  poems  and  perhaps  most 
of  our  novels  belong  in  this  class.  And  there  are 
newspaper  pen-sketches  innumerable  that  pretend  to 
the  same  distinction  ;  they  are  nothing  if  not  dramatic. 

What  is  it  to  be  di'amatic?  Broadly,  it  is  to  be 
exhibitive  of  the  passions  and  actions  that  grow  out  of 
any  given  combination  of  character  and  circumstance  ; 
it  is  to  be  a  portraiture  of  some  phase  of  human  life. 
Balzac  has  given  us  a  long  series  of  such  portraitures 
in  his  colossal  work  La  Oomedie  Humaijie^  which  con- 
sists of  a  number  of  "scenes  from  private,  jirovincial, 
Parisian,  political,  military,  and  country  life,"  aiming 
to  give  a  more  or  less  complete  and  accurate  picture  of 
the  France  of  his  day. 

What  are  the  requisites  of  a  dramatic  writer?  First, 
that  requisite  of  writers  and  artists  in  general,  a  gift 
for  "  the  earliest  and  intense  seizing  of  natural  facts  " 


SCENES    FROM    HISTORY.  105 

—  the  words  are  Ruskin's  ;  secondly,  a  quick,  unerring 
perception  of  the  relations,  causal  or  otherwise,  that 
bind  these  facts  together  into  a  unified  whole  ;  lastly, 
the  power  to  reproduce  through  the  medium  of  language 
these  facts  and  relations  without  diminution  of  their 
original  force  and  vitality. 

How  shall  these  requisites  be  acquired?  So  far  as 
they  are  acquirable  and  not  dependent  on  native  talent, 
thus  :  Observe  human  nature  closely  ;  study  it,  ponder 
over  it,  note  and  compare  ;  read  Shakespeare,  Hugo, 
Browning,  Scott,  Balzac,  Bret  Harte,  and  wrest  from  them 
if  you  can  something  of  their  secret ;  write  unceasingly. 

For  the  work  now  in  hand  read  the  court  scene  in 
the  fourth  act  of  The  Mercliajit  of  Venice  ;  the  opening 
scene  in  Borneo  and  Juliet;  read  the  tales  of  Kipling 
and  of  Bret  Harte,  the  novels  of  Howells,  the  ballads 
of  Will  Carleton.  Portray  then,  in  a  realistic  manner, 
any  scene  from  life  that  you  have  witnessed,  from  a 
street  brawl  to  a  presidential  inauguration.  Let  your 
characters  speak  and  act  for  themselves  —  it  is  the  most 
effective  kind  of  description.  Moralize  little  or  not  at 
all ;  depend  on  your  story  to  point  its  own  moral. 


EXERCISE    XL. 

SCENES    FROM    HISTORY. 

Subjects  : 

New    England    in    tlie    Early      AV^ashiugton's  Army  at  Valley 

Colonial    Period.  Forge. 

The  South  before  the  War.  The  Greeks  before  Troy. 

California  in  the  'Fifties.  Rome  under  the  Caesars. 

Christ  before  Pilate. 


106       NARRATION    AND   DESCRirTION    COMBINED. 

The  compositions  written  in  the  last  exercise  were 
nothing  more  or  less  than  chapters  from  contempo- 
raneons  history.  They  differed  from  the  historical 
sketches  written  in  Exercise  XV.  in  that  they  con- 
sisted of  something  more  than  a  narration  of  events 
—  they  depicted  characters  and  customs  as  well.  This 
may  be  called  pictorial  or  picturesque  history,  and  we 
have  begun  to  realize  that  a  history  without  these 
characteristics  is  not  worthy  of  the  name.  Let  us  try 
now  to  treat  chapters  from  past  history  in  the  same  way. 

It  may  be  objected  that  past  history  cannot  be 
written  from  observation  and  experience  and  there- 
fore does  not  come  within  the  province  of  this  portion 
of  our  work.  But  we  have  reached  the  transition 
point  now,  and  whether  this  exercise  falls  upon  one 
side  or  the  other  makes  little  difference.  This  may 
be  said  in  favor  of  placing  it  here  :  picturesque  history 
writing  is  chiefly  a  matter  of  the  imagination,  and  the 
imagination  is  a  kind  of  second  sight.  Given  a  few 
recorded  facts,  the  imagination  reconstructs,  from  these 
and  from  the  material  furnished  the  mind  by  actual 
observation  and  experience,  scenes  that  are  forever 
past  the  power  of  man  to  witness  otherwise.  When 
one  reads,  for  instance,  in  the  chapter  on  Pindar  in 
John  Addington  Symonds's  Studies  of  the  Greek  Poets^ 
a  description  of  the  Olympic  games,  one  gets  such  a 
vivid  picture  of  the  scene  that  he  can  hardly  believe 
the  author  never  beheld  it.  And  has  he  not  in  truth 
beheld  it  ?  —  with  that  mental  vision  that  looks  back 
over  two  thousand  years  as  easily  as  over  twenty. 

Precisely  how  faithful  these  reconstructions  are  we 
cannot  of  course  determine.     But  there  is  about  facts 


SCENES    FROM    HISTORY.  107 

a  certain  "  eternal  fitness,"  and  we  shall  hardly  get  a 
sense  of  this  fitness  from  anything  that  is  not  a  faithful 
portrayal  of  facts.  The  ability  for  such  portrayal  may 
be  a  gift,  but  Ave  know  that  some  have  possessed  it. 
For  example,  certain  portions  of  Lew  Wallace's  Ben 
Hur^  vividly  and  accurately  descriptive  of  oriental 
lands  and  scenes,  are  said  to  have  been  written  before 
the  author  ever  visited  the  particular  region. 

For  models,  read  the  crucifixion  scene  in  the  last 
chapter  of  Ben  Hur,  the  last  chapter  of  Dickens's 
Tale  of  Two  Cities^  and  almost  any  chapter  of  George 
Lippard's  LeyemJs  of  the  Americayi  lievolutton. 


PART  II. 


Composition  Based  oii  Piejidiug'  and 


Tlioiig'lit. 


Introductory:  Principles  of  Composition. 


We  shall  now  enter  a  field  of  composition  in  which 
writers  are  too  often  expected  to  begin  without  any 
preparation  snch  as  we  have  endeavored  to  obtain. 
New  faculties  will  be  taxed  and  new  powers  called  into 
play.  Experience  and  observation  are  by  no  means  to 
be  set  aside,  but  they  are  to  be  supplemented  by  wider 
reading  and  particularly  by  leflection  and  independent 
thought.  The  material  that  we  have  been  gathering 
all  along  will  not  be  ignored  ;  we  shall  merely  make  a 
different  use  of  it. 

We  have  been  recording  and  chronicling  and  pictur- 
ing ;  storing  facts  in  places  accessible  to  all  ;  fixing 
permanently  the  fleeting  acts  and  feelings  of  the  mo- 
ment ;  reproducing  beautiful  forms  and  colors  for  fu- 
ture contemplation.  Now  we  must  organize  these  facts, 
discover  the  relations  tlie}^  bear  to  one  another,  and 
draw  from  them,  if  may  be,  broader  facts  which  lie 
beyond  the  range  of  ordinary  observation ;  we  must 
transform  the  material  lines  and  colors  into  emblems  of 
spiritual  beauty,  and  weave  the  threads  of  experience 
into  a  })hilosopliy  of  life.  Thus  will  literature  sub- 
serve its  highest  ends. 

Of  the  methods  of  finding  material  we  spoke  in  the 
introduction  to  Part  I.  In  tlie  meantime  we  have 
gone  ahead  and  worked  that  material  into  compositions 


112  INTRODUCTORY. 

as  best^we  could.  In  regard  to  methods  for  the  latter 
process  some  suggestions  have  been  made,  but  much 
remains  to  be  said,  and  perliaps  the  best  place  to  say  it 
once  for  all  is  here. 

As  to  mere  mechanical  execution,  the  writing  of 
sentences  on  paper,  let  the  printed  page  be  your  guide. 
You  may  not  be  able  to  equal,  in  writing,  the  neatness 
and  precision  of  print,  but  by  giving  careful  attention 
to  margins,  spacing,  capitalization,  punctuation,  in- 
dentation for  paragraphs,  etc.,  you  can  approach  them. 
The  advantages  of  mechanical  neatness  and  accuracy 
that  make  them  worth  striving  for  are  so  manifest  that 
they  do  not  need  to  be  pointed  out.  Perhaps,  too,  these 
habits  cultivated  in  mechanical  matters  will  react  upon 
thought  and  expression  themselves,  tending  toward  in- 
creased clearness  and  orderliness. 

Now  as  to  the  best  expression  of  thought,  the  best 
way  of  putting  into  words  what  we  think  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  best  literary  style  —  how  shall  it  be  attained  ? 
In  answer  we  can  only  go  back  to  the  fundamental 
principles  of  rhetorical  science  and  say  that  the  chief 
aims  of  every  writer  should  be,  in  the  order  of  their 
usual  importance,  clearness,  force,  and  beauty ;  and 
that  these  must  be  sought  through  unremitting  atten- 
tion to  the  mediums  of  expression  - —  words,  sentences, 
paragraphs,  and  whole  compositions.    • 

First  of  all,  do  not  exaggerate  to  yourself  the  diffi- 
culty of  writing.  You  can  talk  fluently  enough  by 
the  hour ;  why  should  jow  not  write  as  fluently  ?  Be 
simple  and  natural,  correcting  errors  when  the  com- 
mitting of  thought  to  writing  discloses  them,  making 
improvement  wherever  reflection  shows  that  improve- 


INTRODUCTORY.  113 

ment  is  possible.  In  time  no  (lonl)t  the  habit  of  Avrit- 
ing  with  forethought  and  aftevtliought,  of  searching 
for  more  appropriate  words  and  more  effective  forms, 
will  develop  a  literary  style  considerably  above  the 
plane  of  3-our  ordinary  conversational  style.  But  do 
not  make  the  mistake  of  thinking  that  yon  must  begin 
with  this.  It  is  not  even  necessary,  for  eminence  in 
the  field  of  letters,  that  you  should  ever  reach  it,  and 
often  the  best  means  of  reaching  it  is  through  simplic- 
ity. Mark  how  simply  Washington  Irving  writes,  or 
Benjamin  Franklin  in  his  Aiitohiograjihy,  or  Sir  Charles 
Darwin  in  his  Letters.  And  yet  the  writings  of  these 
men  possess  literary  merit  of  a  very  high  order. 

Endeavor  to  use  oidy  such  words  as  shall  be  intelli- 
gible and  inoffensive  to  all.  01)solete  words,  words 
that  are  gradually  dropping  out  of  use,  and  words  that 
are  just  coming  into  use,  sliould  l)e  employed,  if  at  ail, 
with  a  full  recognition  of  the  risk  incurred  :  the  time 
may  come  when  their  presence  will  render  the  compo- 
sition worthless.  Words  from  a  foreign  language  that 
have  not  become  naturalized  are  generally  unnecessary 
and  are  best  avoided.  They  throw  the  user  under  the 
suspicion  of  pedantry.  Provincialisms,  or  words  whose 
use  is  limited  to  certain  localities,  and  peculiarities  of 
dialect  (except  in  "  dialect  pieces  ")  should  likewise  be 
eschewed.  Slang  is  of  course  inadmissible.  Between 
a  long  and  a  short  word,  other  things  being  equal,  the 
principle  of  economy  would  suggest  the  choice  of  the 
short  one.  Between  Latin  and  Saxon  derivatives  there 
is  perhaps  no  fixed  consideration  to  govern  our  choice  ; 
the  peculiar  virtues  of  the  Saxon  word  are  admitted, 
but  they  have  pro])al)ly  been  overpraised.     A  specific 


114  INTRODUCTORY. 

word  will  lend  greater  vigor  tliaii  a  generic  one, 
especially  in  descriptive  Avriting.  Occasionally  a  word, 
entirely  unobjectionable  in  itself,  must  be  rejected 
because  it  interferes  too  niucli  with  the  rhythm  and 
euphony  of  the  sentence.  Within  these  limitations 
choose  always  the  word  that  seems  to  convey  most 
exactly  your  meaning. 

Short  sentences  give  clearness.  Long  sentences  give 
dignity.  Short  sentences  give  the  sparkle  of  the  faceted 
diamond.  Long  sentences  give  the  luster  of  the  polished 
pearl.  The  long  sentence  offers  many  difficulties  in 
construction  and  is  full  of  pitfalls  for  the  unskillful. 
The  best  style  will  exhibit  both  in  ever  varying  pro- 
portions. It  is  in  the  construction  of  the  individual 
sentence,  the  arrangement  and  conformity  of  its  parts, 
more  than  in  any  other  one  thing,  that  the  difficulty 
and  therefore  the  test  of  good  writing  lies.  Take 
almost  any  complex  sentence  and  you  will  find  that  it 
can  be  arranged  in  several  ways,  some  manifestly  better 
than  others.  The  problem  is  to  find  the  best  way. 
Looseness  is  avoided  by  seeking  the  periodic  structure, 
that  is,  such  a  structure  as  will  not  yield  a  comj)lete 
meaning  until  the  end  of  the  sentence  is  reached. 
Parts  that  bear  a  close  grammatical  relation  to  each 
other  should  not  be  far  separated  except  for  emphasis. 
Remember  that  the  emphatic  positions  in  a  sentence  are 
the  beginning  and  the  end.  The  arrangement  will 
often  be  controlled  by  the  attractive  forces  of  sentences 
that  precede  and  that  follow. 

The  paragraph,  of  comparatively  modern  invention, 
is  too  useful  to  be  slighted.  It  consists  of  a  series  of 
sentences    that   have   a   common  bearing    in    thought. 


INTRODUCTORY.  115 

But  since  it  is  intended  for  the  guidance  of  the  eye, 
its  length  is  restricted,  and  therefore  the  basis  of 
division  will  depend  somewhat  arbitrarily  on  the  length 
of  the  whole  composition.  If  you  are  treating  a  theme 
very  briefly  under  a  dozen  heads,  you  will  probably 
make  a  dozen  corresponding  paragraphs  ;  but  if  you 
are  writing  a  whole  volume  on  the  same  theme 'with 
the  same  divisions,  you  will  have  to  confine  your 
paragraphs  to  minuter  subdivisions  of  the  thought. 
Frequent  paragraph  division  will  give  the  page  an  open 
appearance  that  is  more  inviting  to  the  average  reader 
than  a  page  of  matter  written  or  printed  "  solid."  But 
the  fundamental  office  of  the  paragraph  should  never 
be  forgotten,  or  its  value  will  be  annulled. 

The  whole  composition  should  have  unity  and  cohe- 
rence. The  first  is  secured  by  narrowing  the  subject  as 
much  as  possible  or  desirable  and  by  keeping  it  steadily 
in  mind  throughout,  resisting  all  temptations  to  digress. 
The  second  is  secured  by  observing  some  natural  order 
in  the  development  of  the  theme,  by  remembering  the 
office  of  the  paragraph,  and  by  indicating  clearly  the 
relation  of  paragiaph  to  paragraph  and  sentence  to 
sentence  through  proper  distribution  of  emphasis  and 
the  discriminating  use  of  connecting  words  and  un- 
ambiguous adverbs  and  pronouns  of  reference.  Both 
are  secured  by  making  an  outline  of  the  composition 
before  writing  it  out  in  detail. 

The  standard  by  which  all  of  these  matters  are  meas- 
ured is  good  usage,  and  the  best  writers  of  the  present 
day  constitute  the  ultimate  court  of  appeal.  This  does 
not  mean  that  any  one  shall  be  a  servile  follower  or 
imitator,     repressing    individuality    and    perpetuating 


116  INTRODUCTORY. 

monotony.  It  only  means  that  by  familiarity  with  the 
best  literature  of  the  day  -\ve  come  to  recognize  the 
limits  within  wliich  li])erty  is  not  license,  and  so  are 
enabled  to  conform  to  the  requirements  of  a  somewhat 
variable  and  vaguely  defined  "cultivated  taste."  In- 
dividual taste  must  of  course  take  the  place  of  this  in 
all  Cases  of  doubt.  When  we  use  the  word  taste  we 
imply,  what  has  been  so  well  brought  out  by  Professor 
liarrett  Wendell  in  his  lectures  on  English  Composi- 
tion, that  the  question  here  is  always  one  of  better  or 
worse,  not  of  right  or  wrong.  Instead  of  asking 
whether  a  certain  expression  is  correct  or  otherwise,  we 
ask  whether  it  is  as  clear  as  it  might  be,  or  as  vigorous, 
or  as  beautiful.  Thus  composition  is  removed  from  the 
exact  sciences  to  a  place  among  the  arts. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  importance  of  clearness.  It 
is  perhaps  not  too  much  to  say  that  almost  everything 
else  should  be  sacrificed  to  this.  Certainly  it  should 
always  be  made  the  fiist  consideration,  for  that  which 
is  obscure,  however  good  it  may  be  otherwise,  will  find 
no  readers  until  they  are  assured  of  its  merit,  and  even 
then  is  likely  to  find  but  few.  It  is  not  only  a  duty 
that  every  writer  owes  to  his  readers,  to  express  him- 
self in  the  plainest  terms  possible,  but  it  is  the  only 
safeguard  against  misinterpretation  and  would  therefore 
seem  to  be  dictated  by  the  instinct  of  self-defense. 

After  clearness  seek  strength.  A  vigorous  style  of 
Avriting  is  bound  to  move  more  effectually  than  a  feeble 
one,  and  to  move  many  readers  who  would  not  be 
moved  at  all  by  a  weak  appeal.  Strength  usually  goes 
with  rapidity  and  is  therefore  obtained  by  elimination 
and  condensation.     Diffuseness  and  prolixity  are  fatal 


INTRODUCTORY,  117 

faults.  As  a  rule,  omit  everything  that  is  not  strictly 
pertinent  to  the  subject  in  hand  and  then  abbreviate  in 
form  what  still  remains,  stopping  short  always  of  the 
brevity  which  gives  a  sense  of  incompleteness  or  which 
leads  to  obscurity.  Sometimes  however  force  seems  to 
be  best  gained  by  fullness  and  judicious  repetition. 

Beauty  is  not  found  in  every  phase  of  life,  nor  shall 
we  expect  to  find  it  in  every  form  of  literature.  Still 
its  presence  is  rarely  resented,  and  even  among  the 
practical,  plain,  and  homely  things  with  wliich  life  and 
literature  alike  must  deal,  touches  of  genuine  beauty 
will  not  seem  obtrusive.  But  least  of  all  is  this 
element  to  be  sought,  for  least  of  all  Avill  it  come  for 
the  seeking.  Like  loveliness  of  form  and  face,  grace 
of  2Jen  and  eloquence  of  speech  do  not  hold  themselves 
subject  to  our  command.  Partly  they  come,  if  at  all, 
as  a  natural  inheritance,  and  partly  as  the  reward  of 
long  and  patient  wooing.  And  if  they  are  not  already 
ours,  we  can  do  no  better  than  pursue  our  straight- 
fonvard  course,  lured  by  no  false  glitter,  turning  aside 
for  no  meretricious  ornament,  and  perhaps  in  the  end 
we  too  shall  find  some  share  of  these  elusive  charms. 


SECTION  I.  — EXPOSITION. 


EXERCISE    XLI. 
INTRODUCTORY    PRACTICE. 

Subjects : 
Descriptive  Composition.         The  Art  of  Narration. 


To  expose  or  expound  is  to  set  forth,  to  lay  open. 
Exposition  then  is  the  act  of  setting  forth  or  haying  open 
to  view,  the  act  of  unfokling,  defining,  exphiining,  in- 
terpreting. And  whenever  this  act  concerns  itself  with 
terms^  which  denote  objects  of  thought,  or  with  2>r6t|)- 
ositions,  which  express  relations  between  objects  of 
thought,  we  have  rhetorical  or  literary  exposition. 

We  shall  have  to  go  a  step  further  and  say  that  rhe- 
torical exposition  concerns  itself,  not  with  singular 
terms,  which  denote  single  objects  only,  Ijut  with  general 
terms,  which  stand  for  any  one  of  a  number  of  objects 
having  certain  qualities  in  common  ;  and  the  same  is 
true  of  propositions.  For  example,  you  cannot  expound 
James  White.  You  can  describe  him.  You  can  say  that 
lie  is  a  tall  man  with  dark  eyes  and  well  chiseled 
features  ;  and  this  is  description.  But  it  is  not  expo- 
sition. Now  notice  that  in  this  description  a  great  deal 
is  taken  for  granted.     There  is  the  general  term  man 


I'H)  EXPOSITION. 

Mliii-li  is  not  explained.  Td  an  intelligence  wliicli 
should  know  notliing  ot"  the  meaning  of  the  word  man, 
the  descn]3tion  would  be  unintelligible  until  that  word 
were  explained.  Such  explanation  would  be  technically 
called  exposition. 

How  shall  we  set  al)out  expounding  general  terms? 
Take  the  term  man.  We  should  not  say,  as  we  said  of 
James  White,  that  a  man  has  dark  eyes,  for  that  is  true 
of  some  men  only.  But  Ave  should  say,  among  other 
things,  that  a.  man  is  a  creature  with  two  eyes.  That 
is,  we  should  select  only  those  qualities  that  are  pos- 
sessed by  every  normal  individual  of  the  class  compre- 
hended by  the  general  term.  Description  deals  with 
individuals,  pointing  out  the  features  that  distinguish 
one  individual  from,  all  others  ;  exposition  deals  with 
generals,  with  classes,  pointing  out  the  features  that  are 
common  to  all  individuals  of  the  class.  The  need  of 
exposition  in  the  above  case  may  not  be  so  obvious  be- 
cause the  term  is  well  understood,  but  if  I  say  "  Paradise 
Lost  is  a  sublime  epic,"  many  readers  aaiII  want  the 
meaning  of  the  term  ej^ic  expounded. 

Of  course,  from  another  point  of  view,  these  class 
features  are  distinctive.  That  is,  the  class  is  only  one 
among  other  classes,  and  to  be  distinguished  from  them. 
The  possession  of  two  eyes  marks  off  men  at  once  from 
all  creatures  possessing  more  eyes  or  fewer.  Man  is 
but  one  division  of  a  more  comprehensive  class, — 
animal.  On  the  other  hand  classes  may  be  subdivided, 
and  features  that  are  not  common  to  the  whole  class 
may  be  common  to  the  members  of  one  of  the  sul)di- 
visions.  For  exam})le,  while  we  cannot  say  that  men 
are  dark-eyed,  we  may  fairly  say  that  Italians  are  so. 


INTEODUCTORY    PRACTICE.  121 

And  the  Italian  race  may  Avell  ])o  a  subject  for  expo- 
sition. It  is  when  we  reach  the  individual  in  the  last 
analysis  that  we  have  a-  proper  subject  for  description. 
There  are  many  Italians  —  the  term  may  be  expounded  ; 
there  is  only  one  Dante  —  he  may  be  described.  You 
may  expound  the  meaning  of  tree  and  meadow  and 
river,  but  you  describe  the  landscape  about  you  which 
has  no  exact  counterpart  among  all  the  landscapes  of 
the  eartli. 

Strictly  speaking,  a.  subject  for  exposition  is  neither 
a  material  ol)ject  nor  an  actual  event.  It  is  merely  a 
mental  concept — a  concept  formed  l)y  putting  together 
in  thought  a  certain  number  of  common  qualities  or 
actions.  Every  individual  of  a  class  has  the  common 
class-qualities,  l)ut  it  has  something  more  than  these  — 
it  has  in  addition  its  individual  characteristics.  If  it 
were  possible  to  strip  it  of  tliese  latter,  we  should  have 
our  concept  embodied,  so  to  speak.  But  it  is  manifestly 
impossible  to  have  a  rose  possessing  size  without  being 
of  any  particular  size,  or  possessing  color  without  being 
of  any  particular  color,  although  that  is  just  what  is 
contemplated  by  the  concept  called  up  in  our  mind  hy 
the  general  term  rose. 

For  the  present  then  rhetorical  exposition  may  be 
defined  as  the  process  of  defining  and  explaining  the 
concepts  called  up  in  the  mind  by  general  terms  or 
propositions. 

All  that  has  been  said  thus  far  in  this  exercise  may 
be  taken  as  an  example  of  this  process  :  it  is  an  expo- 
sition of  the  term  exposition.  Now  take  one  of  the  two 
subjects  given  at  the  head  of  this  exercise  and  write  a 
brief  expository  essay  upon  it.     You  must  have  obtained 


122  EXPOSITION. 

from  your  practice  and  lioiu  the  suggestions  in  the 
previous  part  of  this  book  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  what  is 
comprehended  l)y  narrative  or  by  descriptive  compo- 
sition.    Expound  that  idea. 


EXERCISE    XLII. 

INFORMAL    ESSAYS. 

Subjects  : 

Games  of  Chance.  A  House  Divided  against-  Itself. 

Popular  Superstitions.  Penny  Wise,  Pound  Foolish. 

The  Court  Jester.  The  Child  is  Father  of  the  ]\lan. 

]\Iodern  Chivalry.  "  Princes  and  Republics  are  Ungrateful." 


Expository  composition  is  not,  as  might  l)e  inferred 
from  the  last  exercise,  limited  to  dry  technical  or  ab- 
struse subjects.  There  are  multitudes  of  more  or  less 
vague  ideas  and  of  imperfectly  settled  relations  in  every- 
day life  that  open  a  tempting  field  to  the  expositor  ;  the 
above  list  of  subjects  might  be  extended  indefinitely. 
Remember  only  that  you  are  to  select  general  ideas  and 
propositions  :  not,  for  instance,  Triboulet,  court  jester 
to  Francis  1.  of  France,  but  the  genus  court  jester ;  not 
the  neglect  of  the  United  States  Government  in  allow- 
ing Robert  Morris  to  die  in  a  debtor's  prison,  but  the 
ungratefulness  of  republics. 

Moreover,  while  the  i)rimary  purpose  of  exposition  is 
to  assist  the  understanding,  this  does  not  forbid  present- 
ing it  in  a  popular  and  interesting  shape.  Informal 
essays  on  these  topics  were  at  one  time  very  much  in 


INFOE]MAL   ESSAYS.  123 

vogue,  and  their  charni  is  l)y  no  means  unappreciated 
to-day.  One  needs  only  to  mention  the  names  of  Mon- 
taigne and  Addison  to  prove  tliis.  We  call  these  essays 
informal  because  they  do  not  follow  any  rigid  classifica- 
tion nor  attempt  to  exhaust  tlie  subject  or  any  phase  of 
it.  They  are  more  or  less  rambling,  though  a  cultivated 
literary  sense  will  take  care  that  they  do  not  produce  too 
disjointed  an  effect.  Their  interest  is  often  heightened 
by  giving  them  a  personal  tone,  by  pitching  them  in  the 
colloquial  key,  as  if  tlie  writer  were  conversing  with 
his  reader  face  to  face  instead  of  trying  to  reach  him  at 
lonof  rano-e. 

To  write  in  this  style  is  not  difticult,  since  it  involves 
no  very  strenuous  thouoht.  But  whatever  the  writinfj 
may  lack,  for  tliis  reason,  in  positive  value,  should  be 
compensated  for,  if  possible,  by  liveliness  and  pungency 
of  style.  For  models,  read  the  essays  of  Montaigne,  of 
Addison,  of  Charles  Lamb.  Among  tlie  hitter's  may  be 
specified  The  Old  and  the  New  Schoolmaster^  Grace 
Before  3Ieat^  A  Dissertation  on  Roast  Pi[i^  Poor  Re- 
lations. The  essays  of  Bacon  may  be  referred  to,  though 
the  familiar  tone  and  the  personal  element  are  lacking 
in  them.  But  they  consist  for  the  most  part  of  a  series 
of  such  detached  observations  that  they  can  hardly  be 
dignified  with  the  name  of  formal  or  scientific  essays. 

The  following  model  is  extracted  from  A  Co7nplaint 
of  the  Decay  of  Beggars.,  one  of  the  Essags  of  Elia. 
The  long  succession  of  short  sentences  and  the  anti- 
quated forms  are  not  commended  for  imitation. 

Poverty  is  a  comparative  thing.  ...  Its  pretences  to  property 
are  almost  ludicrous.  Its  pitiful  attempts  to  save  excite  a  smile. 
Every    scornful    companion    can    weigh    his    trifle-bigger    purse 


124  EXPOSITION. 

against  it.  J'oor  iiuiu  reproaches  poor  man  in  the  streets  witli 
impolitic  mention  of  his  condition,  liis  own  being  a  shade  bettor, 
uliili'  the  rich  pass  l>y  and  jeer  at  ])<)(h.  No  rascally  cduiparative 
insnlts  a  Beggar,  or  thinks  of  weigliing  purses  wit li  liim.  lie  is 
not  in  the  scale  of  comparison.  He  is  imt  under  the  measure  of 
property.  He  confessedly  hath  none,  any  more  than  a  dog  or  a 
sheep.  No  one  twitleth  him  with  ostentation  above  his  means. 
Xo  one  accuselii  liini  of  pride  or  upbraideth  him  with  mock 
Ininiility.  None  jostle  with  him  for  the  wall,  or  pick  (juaircls  for 
l)recedency.  No  wealthy  neighbor  seeketh  to  eject  him  fi-om  his 
tenement.  No  man  sues  him.  No  man  goes  to  law  with  him. 
ff  I  were  not  the  independent  gentleman  that  I  am,  rather  than  I 
\\c)id(l  be  a  retainer  to  the  great,  a  led  captain,  or  a  poor  relation, 
I  would  choose,  out  of  the  delicacy  and  true  greatness  of  my  mind, 
to  be  a  IJeggar. 

Kags,  which  are  the  reproach  of  poverty,  are  the  Beggar's 
robes,  and  graceful  insignia  of  his  profession,  his  tenure,  his  full 
dress  ;  the  suit  in  which  he  is  expected  to  show  himself  in  public. 
He  is  never  out  of  the  fashion,  or  limpeth  awkwardly  behind  it. 
He  is  not  required  to  put  on  court  mourning.  He  weareth  all 
colors,  fearing  none.  His  costume  hath  undergone  less  change 
than  the  Quaker's.  He  is  the  only  man  in  the  universe  who  is 
not  obliged  to  study  appearances.  The  ups  and  downs  of  the 
world  concern  him  no  longer.  He  alone  continueth  in  one  stay. 
The  price  of  stock  or  land  affecteth  him  not.  The  fluctuations  of 
agricultural  or  commercial  prosperity  touch  him  not,  or  at  worst 
but  change  his  customers.  He  is  not  expected  to  become  bail  or 
security  for  any  one.  No  man  troubleth  him  with  questioning  his 
religion  or  politics.     He  is  the  only  free  man  in  the  universe. 

I'he  following  is  another  example  of  this  popular 
kind  of  exposition,  though  written  in  a  very  different 
style  : 

ARISTOCRACY   IN   AMERICA. 

A  word  about  American  aristocracy,  to  begin  with. 
What,  American  aristocracy  ? 
Yes,  certainly. 


INKOltMAL    ESSAYS.  125 

I  assure  you  that  there  exist,  iu  America,  social  sauctuaries 
iuto  which  it  is  more  difficult  to  penetrate  tliau  into  the  most 
exclusive  mansions  of  the  Faubourg  .Saint-(iermain  or  of  Mayfair 
and  Belgravia.  .  .  . 

The  Americans,  not  having  any  king  to  give  them  titles  of 
noliility,  have  created  an  aristocracy  for  themselves.  This  aris- 
tocracy boasts  as  yet  no  dukes,  marquises,  earls,  or  barons,  but 
the  blue  blood  is  there,  it  appears  —  Dutch  blood,  as  a  rule  — 
and  that  is  sufficient.   .  .   . 

A  Xew  York  lady,  who  is  quite  an  authority  upon  such 
matters,  told  me  one  day  that  Society  in  Xew  Yoi'k  was  com- 
posed of  only  four  hundred  persons.  Outside  of  this  company  of 
elect,  all  Philistines. 

Money  or  celebrity  may  allow  you  to  enter  info  this  charmed 
circle,  but  you  will  never  belong  to  it.  You  will  be  in  it,  but 
not  of  it.  The  lady  in  question  entered  also  into  very  minute 
details  on  the  subject  of  what  she  called  the  difference  between 
"Society  people"  and  '-people  in  Society";  l)ut  in  spite  of  all 
her  explanations  I  confess  1  did  not  seize  the  delicate  shades  of 
distinction  she  tried  to  convey.  All  1  clearly  understood  was 
that  the  aristocracy  of  birth  exists  in  America,  not  only  in  the 
brains  of  those  who  form  part  of  it,  but  also  iu  the  eyes  of  their 
compatriots. 

The  desire  to  establish  an  aristocracy  of  some  sort  was  bound 
to  liaunt  the  breast  of  the  Americans  ;  it  was  the  only  thing 
that  their  dollars  seemed  unable  to  procure  them. 

The  second  aristocracy  is  the  aristocracy  of  money,  plutocracy. 
To  belong  to  this  it  is  not  sufficient  to  be  a  millionaire,  —  you 
must,  1  am  told,  belong  to  a  third  generation  of  millionaii'es.  Of 
such  are  the  Astors,  the  Vanderbilts,  and  company.  ...  In  the 
eyes  of  these  people  to  have  from  thirty  or  forty  to  fifty  thousand 
dollars  a  year  is  to  be  in  decent  poverty.  To  have  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars  a  year  is  to  be  in  easy  circumstances. 

The  thii-d  aristocracy  is  the  aristocracy  of  talent,  —  literary 
and  artistic  society.  This  third  aristocracy  is  incontestably  the 
first,  if  you  will  excuse  the  llil^ernicism. 

I  do  not  think  that  one  could  find  anywhere,  or  even  imagine, 
a  society  more  refined,  more  affable,  more  hospitable,  more  witty, 
or  mor(^  bi-illiaut. 


126  EXPOSITION. 

One  of  the  consequences  of  tlie  position  wliich  woman  takes 
in  the  United  States,  is  that  in  good  American  drawing-rooms 
conversation  is  never  dull.  "  If  I  were  queen,"  exclaimed  Madame 
ll(5camier  one  day,  "I  should  rommand  Madame  de  Stael  to  talk 
to  me  all  day  long."  One  would  like  to  be  able  to  giv(^  the  same 
order  to  plenty  of  American  w'omen.  —  Max  O'Rell,  in  Jonathan 
and  His  Continent. 


EXERCISE    XLIII. 

FORMAL   ESSAYS. 

Sitbjects  : 
Our  Public  School  System.  Sunday  Newspapers. 

Hypnotism  :  What  It  Is.  Child  Labor  in  the  United 

Elements  of  Pleasure  in  Poetry.  States. 

American  Love  of  Sport. 


Many  readers  of  tlie  present  day  are  not  satisfied 
merely  to  be  entertained  —  they  demand  accurate  in- 
formation, instruction.  And  writers,  inspired  with 
something  of  tlie  same  spirit,  seek  to  satisfy  this  d% 
mand.  Thus  has  grown  up  the  modern  essay  —  a 
species  of  composition  rather  brief  in  form,  impersonal 
in  tone,  shorn  of  all  unnecessary  allusions,  addressed 
immediately  to  the  intellect,  and  seeking  to  treat  its 
subject  exhaustively  though  not  necessarily  in  minute 
detail.  The  old  informal  essay  riiay  convey  much  in- 
formation, but  that  information  is  not  organized  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  it  the  greatest  utility  nor  does  it 
pretend  to  be  complete  ;  it  is  suggestive  rather  than 
definitive.  The  writer  has  not  taken  the  trouble  to 
make  himself  thoroughly  familiar  with  Iris  subject,  and 
the  chances  are  that  the  reader  will  not  go  any  farther ; 


FORMAL    ESSAYS.  127 

thus  the  value  even  of  its  suggest! veness  is  minimized. 
The  more  formal,  didactic  essay  imposes  a  severer  task 
on  the  writer.  He  must  endeavor  thoroughly  to  famil- 
iarize himself  with  his  subject,  to  get  a  comprehensive 
view  of  it  in  all  its  bearings,  so  that  he  can  treat  it 
from  the  standpoint  of  one  having  authority  to  speak. 

We  say  this  kind  of  essay  is  one  bi  the  demands  of 
the  times.  The  entire  field  of  legitimate  knowledge 
has  been  so  immeasurably  broadened  that  each  man 
must  limit  his  own  investigations  to  a  very  small  })or- 
tion  of  it.  But  he  naturally  desires  to  know  the  re- 
sults of  others'  investigations,  and  therefore  he  expects 
from  them,  in  a  readily  accessible  form,  such  definite 
information  as  they  alone  can  give.  The  didactic  essay 
is  one  of  the  mediums  of  this  interchange. 

In  most  cases  perhaps  it  aims  to  be  exhaustive, 
though  within  its  ordinary  limits  it  can  be  so  only 
broadly,  not  minutely.  For  example,  this  result  may 
be  reached  liy  setting  forth  the  most  apparent  divisions 
of  a  subject  Avithout  entering  into  the  subdivisions. 
The  method  of  treatment  presupposes  a  definite  plan 
in  the  writer's  mind.  Too  much  emphasis  cannot  be 
laid  upon  this  plan.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that 
every  such  essay  will  be  the  gainer  if  one  half  of  the 
time  allotted  for  its  preparation  is  devoted  to  tlie  con- 
struction of  the  plan.  This  involves  the  gathering  of 
materials  and  then  the  fitting  them  together  and  the 
building  them  up  into  a  framework  of  thought ;  what 
remains  thereafter  is  but  a  minor  task  for  one  who  has 
any  skill  in  composition. 

The  plan  should  follow  some  fixed  principle.  This 
principle    may   l)c   logical,    historical,   chronological,  — 


128       •  KXi'osiriox. 

little  mattiT  wliat  :  diily  it  slioiild  ])t;  vigforously  ad- 
hered to.  Let  tlie  plan  l)i'  fully  made'  out  before  there 
is  any  attemjit  toward  writing  the  essay  :  the  work  of 
composition  thru  will  consist  merely  in  an  ampliliea- 
tion  of  tilt'  plan  and  will  Ix'  found  (•oin[)aratively  easy. 
The  essays  of  Macanlay  and  De  (^nincey  fall  under 
this  class.  Numerous  examples  may  be  found  too  in 
the  current  numbers  of  such  magazines  as  the  North 
American  Meview,  Atlantic  MonthJij^  Popular  Science 
Monthly^  Forum,  Arena.  Instead  of  appending  here  any 
model  of  this  kind  of  composition,  the  following  ])lans 
are  presented  for  study.  Tlie  first  is  abstracted  from  an 
essay  by  Charles  F.  Thwing  in  the  Educational  Review 
for  April,  1892.  Tlie  first  main  division  is  of  the  na- 
ture of  an  introduction  and  propounds  a  cpiestion.  The 
body  of  the  essay  is  devoted  to  ans-woring  this  question. 
In  the  conclusion  a  lesson  is  drawn  —  a  way  is  suggested 
of  a})plying  to  advantage  the  knowledge  which  has  been 
arrived  at.  This  plan  may  never  have  been  wiitten  out 
by  the  writer,  but  it  must  have  been  pretty  clearly 
defined  in  his  mind. 

THE    COLLEGE    PRESIDENT. 

Unusual  amount  of  notice  recently  attracted  to  tins  otfice. 

Frequent  resignations,  elections,  declinations. 

Comparative  lack  ot"  success.     Wliat  is  tlie  reason? 
The  college  president  represents  at  least  four  distinct  relations  : 

Relation  to  the  governing  board, 

Relation  to  the  faculty, 

Relation  to  the  students, 

Relation  to  the  general  ^uiblic. 
These  manifold  and  diverse  relations  demand  rare  ^-ersatility  of 
talent. 


SCIENTIFIC    TREATISES.  129 

As  a  help  toward  lightening  his  difficulties,  let  the  college  presi- 
dent's work  be  made  as  definite  as  possihle. 

The  following  is  an  outline  of  a  portion  of  an  article 
by  Henrietta  L.  Synnot  in  the  Contemporary  Reinew  for 
November,  1874  : 

LITTLE   PAUPERS. 

Discussion  limited  to  tliose  children  who  are  adopted  by  the  State 
through   no  fault  of  their  own  ;  particularly  to  girls  of  tlie 
"  Metropolitan  District." 
Three  classes  : 

Orphans, 
Deserted, 
Casuals. 

Classes  defined. 
Three  methods  of  dealing  with  them  (the  methods  not  coincident 
with  the  classes)  : 
Boarding  out. 
Separate  schools, 
District  schools. 
Results  of  training.     Conclusions  drawn  from  official  reports. 
Working  system  of  schools. 
Later  career  of  girls. 

Appearance  and  health. 
Indifference  to  praise  or  blame. 
Capabilities. 
Examples. 
Significance  of  these  results. 


EXERCISE    XLIV. 

SCIENTIFIC    TREATISES. 

Subjects : 

The  Flora  of  Our  County.  Evolution  of  Dress. 

Fauna  of  the  Middle  States.  Social  Orders  of  America. 

Lepidoptera.  Newspapers  of  To-day. 
"^I'lii'  A'iolct  Family. 


130  EXPOSITION. 

\\\'  shall  have  to  recognize  here  this  chiss  of"  litera- 
ture,  thoiigli  it  is  (hl'licult  to  select  from  it  suitable  sub- 
jects for  elementary  exercise  in  composition.  The 
sciciilitic  treatise  depends  for  its  value  so  almost  entirely 
on  lahoiious  research  and  severe  thouglit  that  it  seems 
scarcely  worth  considering  at  all  from  ihe  standpoint  of 
composition.  It  nuist  1r'  of  a  length,  too,  even  in 
monographs  on  the  nai-rowest  suljjects,  tliat  makes  it 
inconvenient  as  a  form  of  writing  for  mere  practice. 

And  yet  a  little  I'eflection  will  show  that  we  have 
already  trenched  upon  this  field.  In  the  section  devoted 
to  Description,  Exercises  XVII.  and  XX.-XXVII., 
there  were  included  among  the  subjects  many  general 
terms  which  called  more  properly  for  scientific  expo- 
sition than  for  description.  But  the  intention  was 
rather  that  some  individual  of  the  class  should  be  se- 
lected, in  which  case  the  description  would  not  meet 
the  requisites  of  an  exposition.  For  exposition  demands 
that  we  shall  first  observe  large  numbers  of  individuals 
until  we  sliall  have  formed  a  general  conception  from 
which  we  can  be  reasonably  sure  all  particular  qualities 
or  temporary  conditions  have  been  excluded.  One  must 
have  seen  a  great  many  violets,  stemmed  and  stemless, 
white  and  yellow  and  blue,  heart-  an.d  arrow-  and 
palmate-leaved,  before  he  can  treat  scientifically  the 
violet  fanuly. 

We  have  treated  of  exposition  thus  far  as  if  it  had 
to  deal  only  with  logical  definition,  that  is,  with  the 
discovery  of  all  the  common  qualities  which  the  general 
term  implies.  But  there  is  another  side  to  it.  It  deals 
also  with  what  is  called  logical  division,  that  is,  the 
enumeration  of  all  the  individuals  to  which  the  general 


SCIENTIFIC    TREATISES.  131 

term  may  be  applied.  The  general  term  is  said  to  con- 
7iote  the  former  and  to  denote  the  latter.  Thus  the  word 
man  connotes  two  eyes,  ten  fingers,  an  upright  body,  a 
reasoning  faculty,  etc.  It  denotes,  according  to  geo- 
graphical divisions,  Americans,  Europeans,  Africans, 
etc.  ;  or,  according  to  one  ethnological  division,  Caupa- 
sians,  Mongolians,  and  Ethiopians.  Again,  men  might 
be  divided  into  Christians,  Jews,  Mahometans,  etc. 
Let  us  give  a  scientific  exposition  of  the  term  triangle  : 

Triangle  connotes 

a  circnniscribcd  space, 

three  fines, 

three  angles. 
It  denotes 

plane  ti'iangles, 

spherical  triangles, 

curvilinear  triangles. 
Plane  triangle  connotes 

a  circumscribed  space, 

three  straight  lines, 

three  angles. 
It  denotes,  according  to  one  division,  triangles  having 
no  two  sides  equal  —  t^calene, 

(  all  sides  equal  —  cijuilateral, 

two  sides  equal  -,,,.,  ,        •         , 

(  not  all  sides  equal  —  isot^celfs. 

According  to  another  division,  based  on  the  diiference  in 

angles  instead  of  the  differences   in   sides,   it  denotes 

triangles  having  one  right  angle  —  ri(/hl-(infjled, 

no  right  angle  —  \  one  obtuse  angle  —  ohtuse-aiu/lcd, 

oblique-a in/led  \  no  obtuse  angle  —  (icute-aiKjled. 

And  likewise  witii  the  denotation  of  spherical  and 
curvilinear  triangles.  Make  a  similar  exposition  of  the 
term  quadrangle. 

It  is  evident  that  logical  division  may  often  l)e  made 
on   a  number   of    dilferent   principles  ;    on   so   great   a 


132  EXPOSITION. 

number  in  the  case  of  certain  broad  subjects,  such  for 
instance  as  mankind,  that  no  exposition  could  ever  hope 
to  exhaust  them.  Still,  an  exposition  may  be  considered 
complete  which,  after  defining  its  subject,  makes  a  care- 
ful division  of  it  on  some  one  principle.  It  may  be 
advisable  at  times  to  select  several,  provided  always 
that  each  division  be  complete  in  itself  and  there  be  no 
confusion.  It  would  not  do  to  classify  newspapers  as 
weekly,  daily,  democratic,  and  independent  ;  for  these 
divisions  not  only  fail  to  cover  the  whole  class  l)ut  they 
overlap  one  another. 

It  docs  not  come  within  our  scope  here  to  undertake 
anything  of  such  magnitude  as  a  genuine  scientific 
treatise.  We  are  concerned  ordy  with  learning  how  to 
proceed  when  such  a  work  is  contemplated.  Instead 
then  of  writing  a  regular  essay,  select  a  sul)ject  which 
admits  of  some  flexibility  of  treatment  (note  the  last 
ones  in  the  above  list)  and  prepare  an  outline  indicating 
how  it  may  be  treated. 


EXERCISE    XLV. 

CRITICISM. 

Subjects  : 

Wordsworth  and  Bryant.  Realism  in  Art. 

Ibsen's  Claim  to  Greatness.         Standards  of  Eloquence. 

Light  Literature.  Neutrality  as  a  Political  Principle". 


The  critic  should  bring  to  his  work  the  utmost  fair- 
ness of  spirit.  He  should  be  ready  to  praise  freely 
what  he  finds  good  as  well  as  to  condemn  unreservedly 


ciriTiciSM.  13-3 

what  he  finds  bad  in  the  object  of  his  criticism.  He 
must  of  course  have  certain  standards  in  his  own  mind. 
Others  will  realize  that  these  standards  are  personal 
and  therefore  not  absolute.  It  is  the  critic's  plain  duty 
then  to  keep  these  standards  as  just  as  may  be,  and,  for 
the  rest,  to  judge  unflinchingly  by  them.  Thus  while 
finality  of  judgment  he  may  not  attain,  sincerity  at 
least  he  can. 

Besides  impartiality  the  critic  should  have  a  keen 
perception  and  a  lively  sympathy.  This  last  quality  is 
perhaps  most  essential  of  all.  It  is  the  fundamental 
principle  of  the  greatest  school  of  modern  critics  that 
the  critic  should  endeavor  to  put  himself  in  the  place 
of  the  writer  and  enter  into  full  sympathy  with  Iris 
work,  to  look  at  it  from  his  standpoint,  to  take  fully 
into  account  his  motives  and  objects,  and  determine  how 
well  he  has  pei'formed  his  task  and  how  nearly  he  has 
attained  the  ideal  set  before  him. 

Criticism  is  ex|)Osition,  for  it  is  concerned  with  de- 
Iniing  the  province  of  art,  letters,  philosophy,  etc.,  and 
with  determining  the  place  of  any  particular  work  in 
its  own  province. 

One  valuable  help  in  exposition  is  the  making  of 
comjjarisons  of  all  kinds,  bringing  out  similarities  and 
dissimilarities.  This  is  one  of  our  most  common  resorts 
in  the  acquisition  of  all  knowledge  and  therefore  not  to 
be  overlooked  here.  Just  as  the  artist  puts  a  man  at 
the  base  of  the  pyramid  in  his  picture,  or  a  tree  on  the 
mountain. side,  or  a  boat  on  the  river,  in  order  that  wo 
may  have  a  more  accurate  idea  of  the  respective  sizes 
of  these  objects,  so  tlie  skillful  expositor  will  set  before 
us  familiar  things  by  which  to  gauge  and  better  under- 


134  EXPOSITION. 

stand  the  unfamiliar.  Such  comparison  will  play  a 
peculiarly  large  part  in  criticism,  which  involves  either 
establishing  standards  or  judging  by  them. 

I^'or  exam])les  read  the  critical  works  of  Francis 
Jeffrey,  Matthew  Arnold,  Professor  Dowden,  James 
Russell  Lowell,  John  Ruskin.  The  following  is  ex- 
cerpted from  Matthew  Arnold's  essay  On  Translating 
Homer : 

Therefore,  I  say,  the  translator  of  Homer  should  penetrate  him- 
self with  a  sense  of  the  plainness  and  directness  of  Homer's  style; 
of  the  simplicity  with  wliich  Homer's  thought  is  evolved  and  ex- 
pressed. He  has  Pope's  fate  before  his  eyes  to  show  him  what  a 
divorce  may  be  created  even  between  the  most  gifted  translator 
and  Homer  by  an  artificial  evolution  of  thought  and  a  literary 
cast  of  style. 

Chapman's  style  is  not  artificial  and  literary  like  Pope's,  nor 
Ills  movement  elaborate  and  self-retarding  like  the  Miltonic  move- 
ment of  Cowper.  He  is  plain-spoken,  fresh,  vigorous,  and,  to  a 
certain  degree,  rapid ;  and  all  these  are  Homeric  qualities.  1 
cannot  say  that  I  think  the  movement  of  his  fourteen-syllable  line, 
W'hich  lias  been  so  much  commended,  Homeric;  but  on  this  point 
I  shall  have  more  to  say  by  and  by,  when  I  come  to  speak  of  I\Ir. 
Newman's  exploits.  But  it  is  not  distinctly  anti-Homeric,  like 
the  movement  of  INIilton's  blank  verse;  and  it  has  a  rapidity  of  its 
own.  Chapman's  diction,  too,  is  generally  good,  that  is,  appro- 
priate to  Homer;  above  all,  the  syntactical  character  of  his  style 
is  appropriate.  AVith  tliesc  merits,  what  prevents  his  translation 
from  being  a  satisfactory  version  of  Homer?  Is  it  merely  the 
want  of  literal  faithfulness  to  his  original,  imposed  upon  him,  it 
is  said,  by  the  exigencies  of  rhyme  ?  Has  this  celebrated  version, 
which  has  so  many  advantages,  no  other  and  deeper  defect  than 
that?  Its  author  is  a  poet,  and  a  poet,  too,  of  the  Elizabetlian 
age  ;  the  golden  age  of  literature,  as  it  is  called,  and  on  the  whole 
truly  called;  for,  whatever  be  the  defects  of  Elizabethan  literature 
(and  they  are  great),  we  have  no  development  of  our  literature  to 
compare  with  it  for  vigor  and  richness.     This  age,  too,  showed 


CRITICISM.  135 

what  it  could  do  iu  translating  by  producing  a  masterpiece  —  its 
version  of  the  Bible. 

Chajiman's  translation  has  often  been  praised  as  eminently 
Homeric.  Keats's  fine  sonnet  in  its  honor  every  one  knows;  but 
Keats  could  not  read  the  original,  and  therefore  could  not  really 
judge  the  translation.  Coleridge,  in  praising  Chapnum's  version, 
says  at  the  same  time,  "  It  will  give  you  small  idea  of  Homer." 
But  the  grave  authority  of  ]\Ir.  Ilallam  pronounces  this  transla- 
tion to  be  "often  exceedingly  Homeric " ;  and  its  latest  editor 
boldly  declares  that  by  what,  with  a  deplorable  style,  he  calls 
"  his  own  innative  Homeric  genius,"  Chapman  "  has  thoroughly 
identified  himself  with  Homer";  and  that  "we  pardon  him  even 
for  his  digressions,  for  they  are  such  as  we  feel  Homer  himself 
would  have  written." 

I  confess  that  I  can  never  read  twenty  lines  of  Cliapinan's 
version  without  recurring  to  Bentley's  cry,  "  This  is  not  Homer  !  " 
and  that  fronr  a  deeper  cause  than  any  unfaithfulness  occasioned 
by  the  fetters  of  rliyme. 

I  said  that  there  were  four  things  which  eminently  dis- 
tinguished Homer,  and  with  a  sense  of  which  Homer's  translator 
should  penetrate  himself  as  fully  as  possible.  One  of  these  four 
things  was,  the  plainness  and  directness  of  Homer's  ideas.  I 
have  just  been  speaking  of  the  plainness  and  directness  of 
his  style;  but  the  plainness  and  directness  of  the  contents 
of  his  style,  of  his  ideas  themselves,  is  not  less  remarkable. 
But  as  eminently  as  Homer  is  plain,  so  eminently  is  the 
Elizabethan  literature  in  general,  and  Chapman  in  particular, 
fanciful.   .  .  . 

My  limits  will  not  allow  me  to  do  more  than  shortly  illustrate, 
from  Chapnum's  version  of  the  Iliad,  what  I  mean  when  I  speak 
of  this  vital  difference  between  Homer  and  an  Elizabethan  poet 
in  the  quality  of  their  thought  ;  between  the  plain  simplicity  of 
the  thought  of  the  one,  and  the  curious  complexity  of  the  thought 
of  the  other.  As  in  Pope's  case,  I  carefully  abstain  from  choosing 
passages  for  the  express  pui-pose  of  making  Chapman  appear 
ridiculous  ;  Chajiman,  like  Pope,  merits  in  himself  all  respect, 
though  he  too,  like  Pope,  fails  to  render  Homer. 


136  EXPOSITION. 

Jn    tluiL    tunic    sp(.'t.'cli  uf  Surpedoii,  uf    wliich   L  have    said  so 
much,  Homer,  you  may  reuioiuber,  has  :  — 

"if  indeed,  but  once  this  battle  avoided, 
We  were  forever  to  live  without  gi'owing  old  and  immortal." 

Cluipman  cannot  be  satisfied  with  this,  but  nmst  add  a  fancy  to 

it:  — 

"if  keeping  back 
Would  keep  back  age  from  us,  and  death,  and  that  we  might  not  xorack 
In  this  life's  human  sea  at  all  "; 

and  so  on.  Again:  "For  well  I  know  this  in  my  mind  and  in 
my  heart,  the  day  will  be  wlien  sacred  Troy  shall  perish."  Chai> 
man  makes  this  :  — 

"And  such  a  stormy  day  shall  come,  in  mind  and  soul  I  know, 
When  sacred  Troy  shall  shed  her  towers,  fur  tears  of  overthrow.'''' 

I  might  go  on  forever,  but  I  could  not  give  you  a  better  illustra- 
tion than  this  last,  of  what  I  mean  by  saying  that  the  Elizabethan 
poet  fails  to  render  Homer  because  he  cannot  forbear  to  interpose 
a  play  of  thought  between  his  object  and  its  expression.  Cha]> 
man  translates  his  object  into  Elizabethan,  as  Pope  translates  it 
into  the  Augustan  of  Queen  Anne  ;  both  convey  it  to  us  through 
a  medium.  Homer,  on  the  other  hand,  sees  his  object  and  con- 
veys it  to  us  immediately. 


SECTION   II.  — ARGUMENTATION, 


EXERCISE    XLVI. 
ARGUMENT   FROM    SELF-EVIDENT    FACTS. 

Subject  : 
Groundlessness  of  Popular  Superstitions. 


Belief,  as  we  commonly  understand  the  term,  is  not 
knowleds^e.  If  we  could  not  have  the  first  without  the 
second,  considering  how  very  deficient  we  are  in  the 
second,  we  should  be  in  a  deplorable  state.  For  it 
certainly  is  well  for  the  average  man  that  he  should 
believe  something  in  order  that  he  may  be  able  to  de- 
cide and  act  at  all.  It  is  even  an  open  question  whether 
it  is  not  better  for  the  most  of  us  that  we  should  believe 
what  is  actually  false  rather  than  be  in  continual  har- 
assing doubt.  But  when  knowledge  and  belief  shall  be 
co-extensive,  if  that  time  ever  comes  ;  when  we  shall 
positively  know  to  be  true  all  that  we  believe  to  be 
true  ;  then  we  shall  have  reached  an  ideal  state.  No 
less  than  this  are  the  broad  scope  and  the  high  purpose 
of  argumentation. 

Exposition,  we  have  seen,  is  concerned  with  what 
thinsrs  are  —  that  is,  with  truth  embodied  in  facts  and 
relations.     Argumentation  goes  a  step  farther.     It  not 


138  ARGUMENTATION. 

only  seeks  to  discover  truth  and  impart  a  knowledge  of 
it,  but  it  further  insists  that  this  truth  is  truth,  and 
strives  to  enforce  a  knowledge  of  it  and  thus  inspire  an 
active  belief  in  it.  Men  adopt  beliefs  on  the  strength 
of  prejudices  or  of  insufficient  knowledge.  They  even 
come  to  believe  things  because  they  have  desired  to  be- 
lieve them.  These  beliefs  become  second  nature  and 
are  clung  to  with  a  pertinacity  which  even  the  disclosure 
of  truth  itself  sometimes  seems  unavailing  to  remove. 
If  it  were  not  so,  if  men  witliheld  belief  until  knowledge 
came,  and  rested  it  on  that  alone,  there  would  be  no 
need  for  argumentation  as  we  have  defined  it.  Simple 
exposition  would  suffice.  Exposition  is  addressed  to 
ignorance  which  needs  enlightenment.  Argumentation 
is  addressed  to  error  which  needs  correction.  Argumen- 
tation exposes  the  false  as  well  as  the  true.  It  strives 
to  overcome  prejudice.  Its  purpose  is  thus  twofold  :  it 
knocks  down  old  error  in  order  to  set  up  new  truth. 

"  To  err  is  human."  The  obverse  of  every  advance 
toward  higher  Avisdom  is  a  deeper  sense  of  the  preva- 
lence not  only  of  ignorance  but  of  actual  error,  until  it 
may  well-nigh  seem  that  error  is  of  indigenous  growth 
among  men.  For  it  flourishes  even  in  the  presence  of 
the  most  evident  and  incontrovertible  facts.  Where 
this  is  the  case,  argument  may  indeed  seem  of  little 
avail,  for  all  argument  must  rest  immediately  or  ulti- 
mately on  facts.  If  a  Brother  Jasper  declares  that  the 
earth  is  flat  and  "  the  sun  do  move,"  how  shall  you 
convince  him  of  the  contrary?  The  gambler  may 
change  his  cards  a  dozen  times  without  succeeding  in 
changing  his  luck,  yet,  declaring  his  belief  in  the 
charm,  will  change  them  the  thirteenth  time.     There  is 


ARGUIMENT    BY    CAREFUL    EXPOSITION.  139 

little  encouragement  for  one  to  try  to  meet  such  obsti- 
nacy and  such  utter  disregard  of  reason  by  any  appeal 
to  facts.  Still  we  make  the  attempt,  and  we  should 
make  it  too  without  any  resort  to  ridicule  until  kindness 
and  forbearance  have  proved  unavailing. 

Take  some  of  the  superstitions  of  the  day  and  deal 
with  them  in  the  liglit  of  facts  that  are  accessible  and 
evident  to  all.  Much  the  same  subject  was  proposed 
in  the  section  devoted  to  exposition.  But  the  intention 
there  Avas  merely  to  ferret  out  and  explain  these  super- 
stitions and  treat  of  them  in  a  desultory  but  entertaining 
style  ;  the  object  here  is  to  deal  with  them  rigorously 
and  inquiringly,  and  to  show  that  they  are  without 
ground  in  easily  observable  facts. 


•      EXERCISE    XLVII. 
ARGUMENT   BY  CAREFUL,  EXPOSITION. 

Subject  : 
Selfishness  the  Mainspring  of  Human  Action. 


Many  an  error  lias  arisen  and  l)een  perpetuated 
merely  through  a  misunderstanding  of  the  terms  in- 
volved, due  either  to  ignorance  of  the  facts  or  to  a 
misinterpretation  of  them.  And  many  an  unpleasant 
dispute  may  be  avoided  if  the  disputants  will  only 
take  the  trouble  at  first  to  make  suie  that  they  have 
a  like  understanding  of  the  terms  hi  the  question,  and 
that  they  are  approaching  it  from  the  same  point  of 
view.      One  person  declares  that   a   piece   of   metal  is 


1^0  ARGUMENTATrON. 

warm  to  tlic  Luuch  uiul  another  declares  that  it  is  cold. 
They  only  need  to  have  explained  to  them  that  warm 
and  cold  are  relative  terms,  and  they  will  understand 
how  both  assertions  may  be  right.  There  is  the  old 
story  of  a  dispute  over  a  sign-board  which  one  person 
declared  to  be  red  and  another,  Idiie.  Had  some  one 
suggested  that  a  sign-board  has  two  sides,  further 
trouble  might  liave  been  saved.  Is  interest  on  money, 
usury?  is  the  taking  of  interest,  extortion?  It  was 
held  so  once,  but  a  clear  exposition  of  th^  nature  of 
money  and  of  interest  has  reversed  the  opinion.  Is 
money,  capital?  Well,  what  do  we  mean  by  money, 
and  Avhat  do  we  mean  by  capital  ?  A  clear  definition 
of  these  terms  is  about  all  that  is  needed.  The  logical 
process  by  which  the  question  will  then  be  answered 
is  so  simple  that  it  scarcely  needs  elucidation. 

When  we  find  people  disposed  to  argue  about  things 
they  do  not  comprehend,  or  to  make  declarations  of 
truths  when  they  do  not  understand  the  things  which 
the  truths  concern,  it  is  evident  that  we  shall  have  to 
meet  them  with  simple  but  forcible  exposition.  Take 
the  old  question  :  When  a  cart  is  moving  forward  does 
the  uppermost  portion  of  the  tire  of  a  wheel  move 
faster  than  the  portion  on  the  ground  ?  Put  the 
question  to  your  friends  and  see  how  they  will  argue 
it.  They  will  never  come  to  an  agreement,  or  at  least 
will  not  arrive  at  a  correct  conclusion,  until  they  settle 
the  meaning  of  the  terms  motion  and  velocity.  Is  the 
one  absolute  or  relative  ?  Is  the  other  calculated  from 
some  point  absolutely  at  rest  or  not?  Relatively  to 
the  axle,  both  points  are  moving  with  the  same 
velocity.     Relatively  to   the  earth,  the  motion  of  the 


ARGUMENT    BY    CArvEFITL   EXPOSITION.  141 

axle  may  accelerate  the  velocity  of  one  portion  and 
i-etard  that  of  another,  and  so  on.  Similar  is  the 
question.  Can  a  man  walk  around  a  monkey  when  the 
monkey  keeps  turning  so  as  to  face  the  man  ?  The 
only  argument  necessary  is  the  determination  of  what 
is  meant  by  "going  around." 

Enough  lias  been  said  perhaps  to  impress  the  ne- 
cessity of  first  of  all  clearly  defining  terms.  This 
necessity  is  fully  apparent  in  many  of  the  larger 
questions  of  the  day.  In  a  current  number  of  the 
Uducational  Beview  appears  an  article  by  Brandei- 
Matthews,  entitled  Can  English  Literature  Be  Taught  ? 
Much  of  the  article  is  taken  up  with  an  exposition  of 
the  term  teaching^  and  we  quote  from  that  portion  as 
follows  : 

One  thing  more  an  American  discovers  in  reading  Mr.  Collins's 
pages,  and  the  discovery  thiis  made  is  confirmed  by  reading  tlie 
reviews  wliicli  the  boolc  has  had  in  the  British  journals  —  and 
this  is  that  the  custom  of  examining  for  honors  has  obtained  so 
lone  in  Great  Britain,  and  has  been  carried  to  such  extremes  that 
a  confusion  has  arisen  between  the  end  and  the  means.  In  other 
words,  British  writers  on  education,  like  ]\Ir.  Collins,  and  like 
Mr.  Andrew  Lang,  who  reviewed  Mr.  Collins's  book  in  the 
Illustrated  London  News,  seem  no  longer  able  to  distinguish 
between  teaching  and  examining.  When  ]\[r.  Collins  asks  the 
question  which  stands  at  the  head  of  this  paper  and  answers  it 
in  the  affirmative,  and  when  Mr.  Lang  answers  it  in  the  negative, 
both  of  them  interpret  the  question  to  mean  "  Can  English  lit- 
erature be  examined  on  ?  " 

This  insistence  on  examinations,  this  substitution  of  one  of 
the  instruments  of  teaching  for  the  teaching  itself,  this  ex- 
altation of  the  means  above  the  end,  has  apparently  the  same 
result  in  the  universities  of  England  that  it  has  in  the  public 
schools  of  New  York  City.  A  strict  application  of  the  marking 
system  is  little  likely  to  encourage  culture  either  in  a  university 


142  ARGUMENT  ATI  ox. 

or  in  a  public  school.  Narrowness  is  more  easily  i)i()<luced  than 
breadth.  .  .  . 

Having  in  his  mind  the  confusion  between  teaching  and  exam- 
ining wliich  has  befogged  the  whole  discussion  of  the  question  in 
England,  Mr.  E.  A.  Freeman,  tlu'  historian,  declared  against  any 
university  teaching  of  English  literature.  Mr.  Collins  quotes 
Mr.  Freeman  as  writing,  "there  are  many  things  fit  for  a  man's 
personal  study  which  are  not  fit  for  university  examinations.  One 
of  these  is  literature."  That  literature  "  cultivates  the  taste, 
educates  the  sympathies,  enlarges  the  mind,"  Mr.  Freeman  iiuikes 
no  attempt  to  deny  ;  "  only  we  cannot  examine  in  tastes  and 
sympathies,"  is  his  reply.  Now,  if  this  proves  anything,  it  proves 
too  much.  It  is  an  argument,  not  against  teaching  English  liter- 
ature only,  but  against  teachiTig  Latin  literature  and  Greek  liter- 
ature. But  Mr.  Freeman  and  those  who  hold  with  him  have  not 
yet  suggested  that  the  universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
shoidd  give  up  the  teaching  of  Greek  literature. 

There  is  indeed  a  difference  between  the  teaching  of  English 
literature  and  the  teaching  of  Greek  literature.  The  texts  of  the 
great  Greek  authoi-s,  like  the  texts  of  the  great  English  authors, 
may  serve  for  gi'ammatical  instruction  and  for  mere  linguistic 
drill  ;  or  they  may,  the  ancient  as  well  as  the  modern,  be  used 
to  cultivate  the  taste,  educate  the  sympathy,  and  enlarge  the 
mind. 

Such  exposition  differs  little  from  exposition  pure 
and  simple.  Only,  it  may  be  made  more  forcible, 
considering  that  it  is  the  handmaid  of  argument,  that 
it  is  intended  to  clear  away  error  as  well  as  enlighten 
ignorance,  that  it  deals  not  only  with  truth  as  con- 
creted in  isolated  facts,  but  also  with  larger  truths  as 
expressive  of  complex  relations  between  these  facts. 

It  may  be  well  to  begin  this  exercise  with  the  argu- 
ment of  some  such  simple  questions  as  those  alluded 
to  above.  The  subject  offered  at  the  head  of  the 
exercise  will  entail  a  somewhat  abstruse  discussion  of 
the  term  selfishness. 


INDUCTIVE    KEASONING.  143 

EXERCISE    XLVIII. 
INDUCTIVE    REASONING. 

Siibj'crfs  : 

Is  the  Love  of  Money  the  Root  of  All  Evil?  — 1  Tim.  vi  :  10. 

Still  Waters  Run  Deep. 

Heat  Expands  and  Cold  Contracts. 

Undue  Glorification  of  Self-made  Men. 

The  Virtues  of  Cold  Water  as  a  Universal  Beverage. 

Whatever  Is,  Is  Ri^ht. 


Allusion  has  iDeen  made  to  the  fact  that  many  errors 
are  prevalent  which  a  simple  appeal  to  facts  is  suihcient 
to  expose.  If  people  examined  facts  in  the  first  place, 
or  at  any  rate  examined  large  numbers  of  facts,  before 
they  ventured  upon  broad  general  statements,  they 
would  be  saved  from  many  of  these  errors.  The  diffi- 
culty in  the  majority  of  cases  is  that  the  process  of 
inductive  reasoning  has  l)een  too  luisty  or  else  there 
has  been  no  such  reasoning  at  all.  Perhaps  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  comet  in  the  heavens  is  accompanied  or 
followed  l)y  some  great  national  or  other  catastrophe 
on  earth.  The  thouglitless  man  does  not  stop  to  con- 
sider that  this  may  be  a  mere  chance  coincidence,  but 
assumes  that  there  must  be  some  vital  connection  l)e- 
tween  the  two  events,  and  immediately  upon  the  ap- 
pearance of  another  comet  coniidently  predicts  a  simi- 
lar disaster.  The  thoughtful  man  on  the  contrary  is 
not  so  r(,'ady  to  assume  this  connection,  but  waits  to 
sec  if  tlu!  (•oiucidence  will  be  ol)served  a  second  and  a 
tiiird  iind  :i  tciilli   time   before   he   will   (express  even   a 


1 44  ARGUMENTATION. 

provisional  opinion.  He  is  the  inductive  reasoner. 
He  recognizes  that  one  instance  is  not  sul'ficient  to 
prove  the  existence  of  a  law  ;  that  laws  are  arrived  at 
only  by  long  observation  and  careful  comparison. 

Perhaps  on  no  subject  are  men  so  jjionc  to  generalize 
on  the  strength  of  a  few  instances  as  on  the  subject 
of  weather,  and  so  we  have  nund)erless  "weatlier 
signs."  If  the  sun  sliincs  on  a  certain  day  known  as 
'\ground-hog  da}',"  spring  will  not  open  for  six  weeks. 
If  it  rains  on  Easter  Sunday  it  will  rain  every  Sunday 
thereafter  for  seven  weeks.  "A  green  Christmas,  a 
white  Easter,"  etc.,  etc.  But  the  majority  of  such 
statements  express  probabilities  oidy,  not  laws.  Many 
of  them  are  even  counter  to  })robal)ility.  Some  one 
has  observed  them  to  be  true  once  or  twice  and  taken 
the  rest  for  demonstrated.  To  prove  their  unreliabil- 
ity as  general  statements  we  have  only  to  extend  the 
series  of  observations.  A  dozen  concordant  observations 
do  not  definitively  prove  ;  one  discordant  one  disproves. 

Bearing  in  mind  this  last  truth,  it  is  usually  not 
very  diflicult  to  expose  an  error  which  has  grown  out 
of  imperfect  induction.  It  requires  only  the  same 
appeal  to  facts  upon  which  we  relied  in  the  last  exer- 
cise but  one.  With  this  difference,  however  :  the  kind 
of  error  alluded  to  in  that  exercise  was  due  to  a 
thoughtless  or  willful  disregard  of  facts  ;  the  kind  of 
error  alluded  to  here  has  a  certain  show  of  truth  be- 
cause it  seems  to  be  supported  l)y  facts,  the  only  diffi- 
culty being  that  it  is  supported  by  too  few  of  them. 
The  refutation  of  this  Luit  may  require  an  acuteness  of 
perception  or  a  patience  in  investigation  not  possessed 
by  many,  or  it  may  depend  on  some  fortunate  discovery 


INDUCTIVE    REASONING.  145 

of  one  invalidatino-  instance  aniono-  a  host  of  eorrobora- 
tive  ones. 

Expose  if  you  can  any  fallacy  expressed  or  implied 
in  the  sul)jects  for  discussion  offered  at  the  head  of 
this  exercise. 


EXERCISE    XLIX. 

INDUCTIVE    REASONINCI    (Continued). 

All  Dreain  Images  Derived  Solely  I'loni  Waking  Sensations. 
Some  Relations  between  Animals  and   Plants  in  the  Struggle  for 
Existence. 


The  kind  of  argument  contemplated  in  the  last  exer- 
cise was  destructive,  not  constructive.  That  is,  it  was 
devoted  to  the  overthrow  of  errors  that  may  have  arisen 
from  imperfect  induction  —  a  matter,  we  found,  often 
not  difficult.  The  opposite  process,  like  most  con- 
structive processes,  is  not  so  simple.  But  let  us,  if 
possible,  get  a  clear  idea  of  what  induction  is,  before 
we  attempt  to  establish  any  truth  by  it. 

We  expose  a  piece  of  oak  wood  to  a  flame  ;  it  catches 
fire.  We  try  a  piece  of  hickory,  with  a  similar  result. 
We  try  ash,  maple,  pine,  mahoga.ny  ;  in  every  case  the 
same  phenomenon  results  —  ignition.  We  conclude  that 
wood  is  ignitil)le.  We  sul)ject  gold,  silver,  iron,  lead, 
bismutli,  platinum,  to  heat ;  all  melt  at  some  tempera- 
ture or  other.  We  say,  metals  are  fusible.  This  is  in- 
ductive reasoning.  Logical  induction  then  is  the  process 
of  discovering  general  laws  —  laws  which  will  be  found 


14G  ARGUMENTATION. 

true  throughout  entire  classes  of  particvihirs.  These 
laws  are  reached  only  hy  carefully  examinino-  und  com- 
paring large  numbers  of  particular  instances. 

How  can  we  be  sure  that  because  twenty  metals  are 
fusible,  a  twenty-first  will  be?  How  can  we  be  sure 
that  the  laws  arrived  at  ])y  Ibis  inductive  process  will 
hold  true  in  cases  not  yet  examined?  We  can  not  be 
sure.  And  herein  lies  the  difference  between  perfect 
and  imperfect  induction.  Where  all  the  similar  cases 
that  can  possil)ly  exist  have  been  examined,  then  only 
is  the  induction  perfect  and  the  truth  arrived  at  eternally 
secure.  It  may  be  unassailably  true  that  every  state  in 
the  United  States  has  a  divorce  law ;  it  is  by  no  means 
so  certain  that  every  citizen  of  the  United  States  advo- 
cates a  divorce  law  of  some  kind.  So  soon  as  we  resort 
to  imperfect  induction  we  render  ourselves  liable  to 
error.  Not  only  ignorant  weather  prophets  but  great 
scientists  and  philosophei's  often  go  astray  here.  For  a 
long  time  astronomers  felt  practically  certain  that  all  the 
satellites  in  our  system  revolved  about  their  planets  in  the 
same  direction.  But  satellites  of  Uranus  and  Neptune 
were  discovered  which  revolved  in  the  opposite  direction. 

And  yet  we  make  use  of  imperfect  induction.  The 
great  majority  of  our  so-called  general  truths  are  founded 
upon  it.  Rarely  are  all  the  particular  instances  within 
our  reach.  They  lie  beyond  us,  in  the  future,  out  in 
the  universe,  we  know  not  where.  Nevertheless,  we 
venture  to  make  general  assertions  in  regard  to  them 
on  the  strength  of  the  instances  within  our  reach.  We 
do  so  because  we  know  we  may  be  right,  and  because 
we  want  some  anchorage,  even  thougli  a  temporary  one, 
among  the  shifting  sands  of  doubt.     Scientific  induction. 


INDUCTIVE    REASONING.  147 

including  imperfect  induction,  is  both  a  legitimate  and  a 
valuable  means  for  the  extension  of  knowledge.  It  is  more 
than  that.  According  to  some  philosophers  it  is  the  only 
process  of  reasoning  that  furnishes  us  with  knowledge 
at  all,  and  all  our  knowledge  is  ultimately  due  to  it. 

When  the  investigation  that  precedes  inductive  infer- 
ence, whether  in  the  world  of  matter  or  in  the  world  of 
thought,  is  given  in  detail  together  with  the  results  and 
the  inferred  generalizations,  we  have  one  kind  of  argu- 
mentation. Such  is  our  object  here  :  to  draw  from  an 
array  of  particular  facts  a  geneiul  law  or  truth,  and  to 
present  the  whole  in  as  convincing  a  form  as  may  be. 

The  greatest  work  that  has  yet  been  done  in  the  field 
of  modern  science  owes  its  value  to  the  long  and  patient 
investigation  of  facts  which  preceded  every  theory  the 
investigator  ventured  to  propound.  Note  what  Darwin 
says  in  the  introduction  to  his  Orl</in  of  Species: 

When  on  board  II.  M.  S.  "Beagle,"  as  naturalist,  I  was  much 
struck  with  certain  facts  in  the  distribution  of  the  organic  beings 
inhabiting  South  America,  and  in  the  geological  relations  of  the 
present  to  the  past  inhabitants  of  that  continent.  These  facts,  as 
will  be  seen  in  the  latter  chapters  of  this  volume,  seemed  to  throw 
some  light  on  the  origin  of  species  —  that  mystery  of  mysteries,  as 
it  has  been  called  by  one  of  our  greatest  philosojihers.  On  my 
return  home,  it  occurred  to  me,  in  1837,  that  something  might 
perhaps  be  luade  out  on  this  question  by  patiently  accumulating 
and  reflecting  on  all  sorts  of  facts  which  coidd  possibly  have  any 
bearing  on  it.  After  five  years'  work  I  allowed  myself  to  speculate 
on  the  sul)ject,  and  drew  up  some  short  notes  ;  these  I  enlarged 
in  1S44  into  a  sketch  of  the  conclusions,  which  then  seemed  to  me 
probable  :  from  that  period  to  the  present  day  I  have  steadily 
pursued  the  same  object.  I  hope  that  I  may  be  excused  for  enter- 
ing on  these  personal  details,  as  I  have  given  them  to  show  that 
I  have  not  been  hasty  in  coming  to  a  decision. 


148  ARGUMENTATION. 

As  an  example  oi  the  investigator's  methods,  l^eaiiug 
on  one  of  the  subjects  given  above,  read  the  following 
from  the  same  book  : 

I  am  tempted  to  give  one  more  instance  showing  how  plants 
and  animals,  remote  in  the  scale  of  nature,  are  bound  together  by 
a  web  of  complex  relations.  I  shall  hereafter  have  occasion  to 
show  that  the  exotic  Lobelia  fulgens  is  never  visited  in  my  garden 
by  insects,  and  consequently,  from  its  peculiar  structure,  never 
sets  a  seed.  Nearly  all  our  orchidaceous  plants  absolutely  require 
the  visits  of  insects  to  remove  their  pollen-masses  and  thus  to  fer- 
tilize them.  I  find  from  experiment  that  humble-bees  are  almost 
indisi)ensable  to  the  fertilization  of  the  heartsease  (Viola  tricolor), 
for  other  bees  do  not  visit  this  flower.  I  have  also  found  that  the 
visits  of  bees  are  necessary  for  the  fertilization  of  some  kinds  of 
clover  :  for  instance,  20  heads  of  Dutch  clover  (Trifolium  repens) 
yielded  2290  seeds,  but  20  other  heads  protected  from  bees 
produced  not  one.  Again,  100  heads  of  red  clover  (T.  pratense) 
produced  2700  seeds,  but  the  same  number  of  protected  heads  pro- 
duced not  a  single  seed.  Humble-bees  alone  visit  red  clover,  as 
other  bees  cannot  reach  the  nectar.  It  has  been  suggested  that 
moths  may  fertilize  the  clovers  ;  but  I  doubt  whether  they  could 
do  so  in  the  case  of  the  red  clover,  from  their  weight  not  being 
sufficient  to  depress  the  wing-petals.  Hence  we  may  infer  as  highly 
probable  that,  if  the  whole  genus  of  humble-bees  became  extinct 
or  very  rare  in  England,  the  heartsease  and  red  clover  would  be- 
come very  rare,  or  wholly  disappear.  The  number  of  humble-bees 
in  any  district  depends  in  a  great  measure  on  the  number  of  field- 
mice,  which  destroy  their  combs  and  nests  ;  and  Col.  Newman, 
who  has  long  attended  to  the  habits  of  humble-bees,  believes  that 
"  more  than  two-thirds  of  them  are  thus  destroyed  all  over  Eng- 
land." Now  the  number  of  mice  is  largely  dependent,  as  every 
one  knows,  on  the  number  of  cats  ;  and  Col.  Newman  says,  "  Near 
villages  and  small  towns  I  have  found  the  nests  of  humble-bees 
more  numerous  than  elsewhere,  which  I  attribute  to  the  number 
of  cats  that  destroy  the  mice."  Hence  it  is  quite  credible  that  the 
presence  of  a  feline  animal  iu  large  numbers  in  a  district  might 


DEDUCTIVE  REASONING.  149 

determine,  through  the  intervention  first  of  mice  and  then  of  bees, 
the  frequency  of  certain  flowers  in  that  district  ! 

A  few  lines,  further  on,  will  give  a  hint  of  work  still 
to  be  done  in  a  direction  in  which  the  student  may  get 
interesting  results  well  worth  recording  : 

The  difference  in  the  length  of  the  corolla  in  the  two  kinds  of 
clover,  which  determines  the  visits  of  the  hive-bee,  must  be  very 
triflino-  :  for  I  have  been  assured  that  when  red  clover  has  been 
mown,  the  flowers  of  the  second  crop  are  somewhat  smaller,  and 
that  these  are  visited  by  many  hive-bees.  I  do  not  know  whether 
this  statement  is  accurate  ;  nor  whether  another  published  state- 
ment can  be  trusted,  namely,  that  the  Ligurian  bee,  which  is 
generally  considered  a  mere  variety  of  tlie  common  hive-bee,  and 
which  fi-eely  crosses  with  it,  is  able  to  reach  and  suck  the  nectar 
of  the  red  clover. 

In  the  treatment  of  the  first  subject  given  above, 
make  a  record  of  your  dreams,  tracing  everything  in 
them  as  far  as  possible  to  some  experience  or  impression 
of  waking  life.  Appeal  also  to  the  experience  of  your 
friends. 

EXERCISE    L. 
DEDUCTIVE    REASONING. 


Shakespeare  the  Product  of  His  Age. 

An  Early  Change  in  the  Government  of  Russia  Inevitable. 

Reasons  wliy  Human  Slavery  should  not  be  Tolerated. 

The  Successful  Man. 

John  Brown,  Hero. 


There  is  a  process  of  reasoning  just  the  reverse  of 
that   with   which   wc   have   been   dealing.     Given  the 


160  ARGUMENTA  I'loN. 

general  l;i\v  for  u  class  oi  ul)jecls  or  instances,  we  can 
proceed  to  apply  it  to  any  particnlar  oljject  or  instance 
in  the  class.  If  all  men  are  mortal,  one  man  is  mortal, 
and  if  I  am  a  man  I  am  mortal.  If  copper  is  a  con- 
dnctor  of  electricity  and  if  lightning  is  electricity,  then 
co})])er  is  a  conductor  of  lightning.  These  are  examples 
of  <lrili()il()N.  Let  us  put  them  in  the  form  of  what  is 
known  in  logic  as  a  syllogism  : 

Major  prt'inise  :     All  iiicii  arc  iiioilal. 
Minor  premise  :     James  is  a  man. 
Conclusion  :  James  is  mortal. 

Electricity  is  conductible  by  copper. 

Lightning  is  electricity. 

Therefore,  lightning  is  conductible  by  copper. 

It  must  be  at  once  evident  to  all  that  these  con- 
clusions are  indisputably  correct — that  is,  if  the  prem- 
ises are.  The  deductive  process  in  itself  is  not  open 
to  the  objection  which  the  inductive  process  is  open 
to,  for  it  does  not  go  beyond  the  limits  with  which  it 
begins.  But  there  may  be  some  question  in  regard  to 
those  limits.  We  must  have  premises  in  order  to  draw 
a  conclusion.  Those  pi'emises  are  established  by  in- 
duction ;  if  by  imperfect  induction,  there  is  a  possi- 
bility of  their  being  untrue  ;  and  if  they  are  not  true 
the  conclusion  itself  ma}'^  be  false.  Thus,  by  observing 
the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  Saturn,  and  the  Earth,  astron- 
omers had  at  one  time  concluded  that  the  satellites  of 
our  })lanetary  system  revolve  from  west  to  east.  They 
could  therefore  very  well  infer  that  if  Uranus  was 
attended  by  any  satellites  they  revolved  from  west  to 
east.  Uranus  is  attended  by  a  number  of  satellites, 
but  they  revolve  from   east  to  west.     The   induction 


DEDUCTIVE    REASONING.  151 

had  been  imperfect,  and  as  it  happens,  incorrect ;  and 
the  inference,  thongh  drawn  by  a  correct  process,  was 
also  incorrect. 

The  danger  from  this  source  is  twofokl.  Not  oid_y 
may  the  one  premise  which  asserts  a  general  truth  of  a 
class  be  false,  but  the  other  which  assigns  an  individual 
to  that  class  may  also  be  false.  Suppose  we  say  :  All 
oaks  have  simple  leaves  ;  the  poison-oak  is  an  (xdc  ; 
therefore  the  poison-oak  has  simple  leaves.  Our  con- 
clusion is  false,  not  because  the  deductive  process  of 
reasoning  is  fallacious  but  because  the  second  premise 
is  fallacious  :  the  poison-oak  is  not  a  member  of  the 
oak-family  at  all. 

Of  course  we  go  on  making  deductive  inferences, 
and  trusting  them  too.  If  now  and  then  one  turns 
out  to  be  wrong  Ave  go  back  and  examine  our  premises, 
and  if  we  discover  a  false  induction,  that  is  so  much 
gained ;  the  discovery  of  an  error  always  brings  us  so 
much  nearer  the  truth. 

The  great  body  of  argumentative  literature  is  founded 
upon  deductive  reasoning.  Rarely  however  in  com- 
position do  we  employ  anything  so  formal  as  the  com- 
plete syllogism.  Here  is  one  example  from  MatthcAV 
Arnold :  "  Genius  is  mainly  an  affair  of  energy,  and 
poetry  is  mainly  an  affair  of  genius  ;  therefore,  a  nation 
whose  spirit  is  characterized  Ijy  energy  may  well  be 
eminent  in  poetry."  But  nearly  always  one  of  the 
premises  is  unexpressed ;  sometimes  the  inference  it- 
self is  not  drawn.  When  we  say,  "  The  treatise  will 
not  be  popular  because  it  is  so  al)stract,"  we  trust  to 
everybodj'"  to  su})ply  the  premise,  "Abstract  treatises 
are  not  popular." 


152  ARGUMENTATION. 

Take  tlic  I'oUowiiig  aiguiiujiits,  supply  the  missing 
premises,  and  construct  complete  syllogisms  : 

Blessed  are  tlie  imTciftil  :  for  they  slmll  olitain  mercy. — 
Matt,  v:  7. 

Poverty  is  a  great  enemy  to  liumau  liap[iiiies.s  ;  it  certainly 
destroys  liberty William  Mathews. 

Jt  is  true,  no  doubt,  that  a  man's  immediate  ancestors  nnist  be 
supposed  to  have  most  infliu;nce  on  his  character,  and  that 
Byron's  immediate  ancestors  were  far  from  being  (juiet,  respect- 
able people.  —  W.  jNlinto. 

In  writing  an  essay  of  this  kind  remend)er  that  the 
conclusion  may  be  reached  through  a  long  series  of 
deductions.  Avoid,  in  general,  the  formal  sjdlogism. 
Follow  any  order.  For  example,  you  may  tell  what 
John  Brown  did  and  then  show  that  such  actions,  by 
whomsoever  performed,  are  essentially  heroic  ;  or  you 
may  begin  by  defining  heroism  and  then  show  that 
John  lirown\s  actions  partook  of  its  characteristics. 
The  argument  for  the  downfall  of  monarchy  may  be 
based  on  the  growing  love  of  freedom  and  the  greater 
courage  in  the  assertion  of  individual  rights.  The 
whole  i)rocess  is  simply  this  :  we  go  back  to  broad 
truths   and   then   make  a  spe(;ial  application  of  them. 

Head  the  following  inquiry  into  the  cause  of  the 
poj)ularity  of  Childe  Harold,  by  William  Minto,  JEn- 
cyclopcedia  Britannica : 

Jt  has  often  been  asked  wliat  was  the  cause  of  the  instantaneous 
and  wide-spread  popularity  of  Childe  Harold,  which  Byron  himself 
so  well  expressed  in  the  saying,  "  I  awoke  one  morning  and  found 
myself  famous."  Chief  among  the  secondary  causes  was  the  warm 
sympathy  between  the  poet  and  his  readers,  the  direct  interest  of 
his  theme  for  the  time.  In  the  spring  of  1812  England  was  in 
the  very  crisis  of  a  struggle  for  existence.     It  was   just  before 


DEDUCTIVE    REASONING.  153 

Napoleon  set  out  for  Moscow.  An  Englisli  ai"my  was  standing 
on  tlie  defensive  in  Portugal,  with  difficulty  holding  its  own  ;  the 
nation  was  trembling  for  its  safety.  The  dreaded  Bonaparte's 
next  movement  was  uncertain  ;  it  was  feared  that  it  might  be 
against  our  own  shores.  Rumor  was  busy  with  alarms.  All 
tln-ough  the  country  men  were  arming  and  drilling  for  self-defence. 
Tlie  heart  of  England  was  beating  high  with  patriotic  resolution. 
AVliat  were  our  poets  doing  in  the  midst  of  all  this?  Scott, 
tlien  at  the  head  of  the  tuneful  brotherhood  in  popular  favor,  was 
celebrating  the  exploits  of  William  of  Deloraine  and  Marmion. 
.  .  .  Southey  was  floundering  in  the  dim  sea  of  Hindu  mythology. 
Rogers  was  content  witli  his  I'lrdsures  of  jSIcnionj.  .  .  .  Moore 
confined  himself  to  political  S(piibs  and  wanton  little  lays  for  the 
boudoir.  It  was  no  wonder  tJiat,  when  at  last  a  poet  did  appear 
whose  imjiulses  were  not  merely  literary,  who  felt  in  what  century 
he  was  living,  whose  artistic  creati(ms  were  throbl)ing  with  the 
life  of  his  own  age,  a  crowd  at  once  gathered  to  hear  the  new 
singer.  There  was  not  a  parish  in  Great  Britain  in  which  there 
was  not  some  household  that  had  a  direct  personal  interest  in  the 
scene  of  the  pilgrim's  travels  —  "  some  friend,  some  brother  there." 
The  effect  was  not  confined  to  England  ;  Byron  at  once  had  all 
P^urope  as  his  audience,  because  he  spoke  to  them  on  a  theme  in 
which  they  were  all  deeply  concerned.  He  spoke  to  them,  too,  in 
language  wliich  was  not  merely  a  naked  expression  of  their  most 
intense  feelings  ;  the  spell  by  wliich  he  held  them  was  all  the 
stronger  that  he  lifted  them  with  the  irresistible  power  of  his 
song  above  the  passing  anxieties  of  the  moment.  Loose  and 
rambling  as  Childe  Harold  is,  it  yet  had  for  the  time  an  uncon- 
scious art ;  it  entered  the  absorbing  tumult  of  a  hot  and  feverish 
struggle,  and  opened  a  way  in  the  dark  clouds  gathering  over  the 
coml)atants  through  which  they  could  see  the  blue  vault  and  the 
shining  stars.  ...  In  that  terrilde  time  of  change,  when  every 
state  in  Europe  was  shaken  to  its  foundation,  there  was  a  profound 
meaning  in  placing  before  men's  eyes  thi^  departed  greatness  of 
Greece  ;  it  loumled  off  the  troubled  scene  with  dramatic  propriety. 
Even  the  mournful  scepticism  of  Childe  Harold  was  .not  resentf  d 
at  a  time  when  it  lay  at  the  root  of  every  heart  to  ask,  Is  there  a 
God  in  heaven  to  see  such  desolation,  and  withhold  IHs  hand? 


154  A  lU ;  IT  INI  EN  TAT  K  »N. 

EXERCISE    LI. 
DEDUCTIVE   REASONINf;  (Continued). 

Snhjerfs : 

Fallacies  of  Democracy.  The  Malthusiaii  Doctrine. 

Mistakes  of  Epinirus. 


Let  us  consider  some  methods  of  overthrowing 
arguments  founded  on  deductive  reasoninof.  We  have 
already  noticed  that  there  are  two  possibilities  of  error 
because  the  conclusion  must  be  drawn  from  two  premises 
either  one  of  which  may  be  wrong.  The  premises  there- 
fore need  close  scrutiny  first  of  all.  But  there  is  still 
a  third  possibility  of  error,  even  granting  that  the 
premises  are  correct :  —  an  unwarrantable  conclusion 
may  be  drawn.  We  said  that  the  deductive  process  is 
an  absolutely  correct  one.  So  it  is.  So  are  many 
mathematical  processes  —  the  process  for  instance  by 
which  we  extract  the  cube  root  of  numbers.  But 
nevertheless  we  sometimes  make  mistakes  in  following 
out  the  process  and  so  arrive  at  incorrect  results.  In 
many  a  deductive  argument,  if  we  go  over  it  carefully, 
we  shall  find  tliat  there  has  been  a  mistake  in  the  process. 

Suppose  Ave  say 

All  wood  is  ignitible  ; 
Hickory  is  iguitible  ; 

Therefore  hickory  is  wood. 

Are    the    premises    correct?    Yes.     Is    the    conclusion 
correct?    Yes.      But    is    the    process,   the    deduction, 


DEDUCTIVE    REASONING.  155 

correct?  No.  The  conclusion  therefore  is  unwarranted 
and  not  to  be  depended  upon.  As  a  statement  it  may 
chance  to  be  correct  (as  in  this  instance),  but  it  is  not 
a  correct  conclusion  to  draw,  for  by  the  same  process  a 
very  incorrect  conclusion  may  be  arrived  at,  thus  : 

All  wood  is  iguitible  ; 
Gas  is  iguitible  ; 

Therefore  gas  is  wood. 

The  difficulty  is  that  we  have  not  denied  that  other 
things  besides  wood  may  also  be  iguitible.  We  have 
said  nothirg  whatever  about  all  iguitible  things  and 
therefore  we  are  not  warranted  in  saying  anything 
whatever  about  any  one  of  them.  We  have,  however, 
said  something  about  all  woods,  and  we  can  therefore 
draw  a  conclusion  about  any  particular  wood,  thus  : 

All  wood  is  iguitible  ; 
Hickory  is  wood  ; 

Therefore  hickory  is  iguitible. 

And  this  will  be  found  correct  in  every  particular. 

Examine  the  following  arguments  for  fallacies,  and 
if  possible  make  correct  syllogisms  of  them  : 

Tuduction  is  a  process  of  reasoning  ; 
Induction  furnishes  us  with  knowledge  ; 

Therefore  processes  of  reasoning  furnish  us  with  knowledge. 

Induction  is  the  only  process  of  reasoning  that  furnishes  us  with 
knowledge  ; 

Therefore,  all  our  knowledge  is  due  to  induction. 

All  liquids  are  vaporizable  ; 
Gold  is  not  a  liquid  ; 

Tlicrefore  gohl  is  not  vaporizable. 


15C  AIlGUMENTATroN. 

Notliiny  i.s  lu'ttcr  than  wisdom  ; 
Bread  is  better  than  iiotliing  ; 

Therefore,  bread  is  better  than  wisdom. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  work  hero  to  examine  the  various 
fallacies  of  reasoninfj^  and  distinguish  them  and  give 
them  names.  That  belongs  to  logic.  It  must  suffice 
for  us  to  recognize  the  fact  that  they  exist  in  many  dis- 
guises, and  to  be  on  our  guard  against  them,  both  in 
oui-selves  and  in  others.  After  all,  they  invariably  do 
violence  to  the  axiomatic  truths  which  lie  at  the  foun- 
dation of  all  reason,  and  every  man's  "common  sense" 
will  generally  be  sufficient  to  detect  them. 

In  this  exercise  our  object  again  is  rather  destructive 
—  to  expose  the  fallacy  of  an  argument  that  involves  false 
deduction.  It  may  be  as  good  practice  as  any  to  attempt 
to  overthrow  some  of  the  arguments  advanced  on  subjects 
in  the  last  exercise,  to  show  that  John  Brown  was  not 
a  hero,  or  that  slavery  is  an  institution  to  be  upheld. 
These  are  questions  with  two  sides,  and  it  may  well  be 
that  fallacies  can  be  detected  in  the  arguments  advanced 
on  one  side.  Or  take  one  of  the  other  subjects.  Sup- 
pose it  has  been  represented  that  the  era  of  peace 
supervening  after  the  crisis  of  some  great  political  or 
religious  strife  fosters  the  development  of  literar}' 
genius  ;  that  the  age  of  Queen  Elizabeth  was  such  an 
an  era  in  the  national  history  of  England  ;  that  Shake- 
speare lived  in  that  age  ;  that  his  genius  was  of  the 
highest  order ;  that  the  genius  of  Shakespeare  was 
therefore  the  product  of  his  time.  If  this  argument  is 
closely  examined  it  will  be  found  fallacious  in  several 
points. 


EVIDENCE.  157 

EXERCISE    LII. 
EVIDENCE. 

Subjects  : 

Tlie  Character  of  Columbus. 

Was  the  Assassinator  of  President  Garfield  Insane? 
Evidence  for  or  against  a  Belief  in  llhabdomancy  ;  Spiritualism  ; 
Conservation  of  Energy  ;  Inoculation  for  Disease. 


Evidence  is  a  general  name  for  everything  that  is 
adduced  to  corroborate  a  fact  or  support  a  thesis.  It 
may  be  material  objects,  such  as  are  often  exhibited  in 
trials  before  courts  of  law.  It  may  be  oral  or  written 
testimony  of  witnesses.  It  may  l)e  a  combination  of 
circumstances  that  seem  to  admit  of  only  one  explana- 
tion. It  may  be  an  expression  of  opinion  l^y  some  one 
who  is  an  expert  in  the  matter  under  discussion  and 
whose  words  therefore  carry  weight.  All  of  these  may 
be  elaborated  into  an  argument  which  may  be  deemed 
by  the  hearer  or  reader  to  estal)lish  conclusive  proof. 
But  the  evidence  in  itself  is  not  necessarily  proof. 

Each  of  these  kinds  of  evidence  will  have  a  dif- 
ferent force  and  validity,  which  must  be  taken  into 
account.  For  instance,  what  is  called  in  law  "  circum- 
stantial evidence "  may  be  exceedingly  strong  and 
convincing,  and  yet  many  a  conclusion  drawn  from  it 
has  afterward  been  found  wrong.  The  value  of  verbal 
testimony  depends  very  nuich  on  the  intelligence,  moral 
character,  and  disinterestedness  of  the  witness  who 
offers  it.  Authority,  or  the  judgment  of  experts  in 
matters  of  opinion,  will  vary  greatly  in  value. 


158  ARGUMENTATION. 

Take  the  matter  of  testimony.  AMuii  can  l)e  l)etter 
tlian  the  truthful  testimou}^  of  an  unprejudiced  eye- 
witness? And  yet  our  e3-es,  and  all  our  senses,  are 
continually  dt'ceivintv  us.  A  child  riding:  oil  a  train 
fancies  that  the  fences  are  flying  past  him  ;  a  man  of 
wide  experience  and  matured  judgment  often  finds  it 
difficult  to  determine  whether  or  not  a  train  is  moving, 
past  which  he  is  being  carried  on  another  train.  Clouds 
seem  to  be  moving  in  opposite  directions  when  in  reality 
one  stratum  is  simply  moving  faster  than  another  in  the; 
same  direction.  An  object  is  blue,  green,  or  even  red, 
to  different  people.  The  same  man  is  described  by  one 
person  as  tall,  by  another  as  of  medium  stature  ;  one 
says  his  eyes  are  black,  another  that  they  are  brown. 
And  all  of  these  witnesses  may  feel  confident  that  they 
are  telling  the  truth.  Evidence,  we  repeat,  even  the 
best  of  evidence,  is  not  proof.  Hence  the  necessity  of 
bringing  to  bear  every  scrap  of  evidence  obtainable. 
The  weaving  of  it  into  a  strong  mesh  of  proof  exercises 
the  highest  skill  of  the  philosopher,  the  historian,  the 
scientific  demonstrator,  the  legal  advocate.  In  short, 
it  is  the  utilization  of  all  the  resources  of  argument. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  subjects  offered  thus  far 
have  often  been  put  in  the  form  of  questions.  There 
are  several  good  reasons  for  this.  The  reader  will  un- 
derstand at  once  that  the  pajicr  is  to  be  argumentative 
and  that  the  question  is  an  unsettled  one  in  the  minds 
of  many  people.  The  interrogative  form,  too,  seems  to 
promise  greater  fairness  of  treatment  on  the  writer's 
part.  His  answer  may  be  an  unqualified  Yes  or  No, 
but  he  assumes  to  start  at  least  from  a  neutral  stand- 
point and  with  a  spirit  of  sincere  inquiry.     The  result 


DEBATE.  159 

is  that  the  reader's  interest  is  aroused  at  once,  his  atten- 
tion to  the  arguments  is  more  willingly  given,  and  his 
concurrence  with  the  results  more  ready. 

So  far  as  it  is  possible  in  these  exercises,  argue  local 
questions.  Has  there  been  a  fire  in  your  neighborhood 
recentl}^  which  was  suspected  to  be  of  incendiary  origin  ? 
Is  there  a  suspicion  that  the  late  acts  of  vandalism  on 
the  school  grounds  were  committed  by  persons  not  con- 
nected with  the  school  ?  Ferret  out  all  the  evidence 
you  can  and  present  it  in  a  convincing  form. 


EXERCISE    LIII. 
debatp:. 

Questions  of  Fact: 

Resolved,  That  tliere  was  a  pre-Cohuiiliiaii  Discovery  of  America. 

That  the  American  Indians  are  Descended  from  the 
Mound  Builders. 

That  Lord  Bacon  Wrote  tlie  Works  Attributed  to 
Shakespeare. 

That  Crime  Increases  with  Civilization. 

That  ^Earthquakes  are  Caused  by  the  Cooling  and  Con- 
traction of  the  Earth's  Crust. 


Debate  is  argumentation  on  both  or  all  sides  of  a 
question,  usually  conducted  Ijy  two  or  more  persons, 
each  of  whom  represents  one  side.  It  is  presumably 
the  best  way  of  arriving  at  truth  and  settling  unsettled 
questions.  It  has  often  l)een  skeptically  remarked  that 
del)ate  convinces  nobody.  This  is  true  only  of  those 
who  will  not  see,  of  whom  it  has  been  said  that  there 


160  ARGUMENTATION. 

are  none  so  1)1  hid.  Daily  does  it  become  more  and  more 
evident  that  among  intelligent,  fair-minded  men  and 
women  debate  is  a  valuable  means  for  the  formation  of 
opinions.  AVhen  one  argues  a  question  alone,  from  his 
own  point  of  view,  he  should  of  course  try  to  concede 
everything  that  may  be  said  from  the  o])posite  point  of 
view.  But  it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  find  so  much  to 
say  on  the  other  side  nor  support  it  so  strongly  as  one 
whose  convictions  lie  on  that  side.  Hence  the  advan- 
tage of  having  several  parties  to  the  discussion.  They 
may  not  succeed  in  convincing  one  another,  but  they 
will  certainly  help  an  unprejudiced  non-participator  to 
a  conviction. 

While  debates  are  commonly  oral,  as  in  debating 
societies,  political,  educational,  and  religious  gatherings, 
law  courts,  parliamentary  sessions,  etc.,  they  are  by  no 
means  always  so.  Many  are  to  be  found  in  our  maga- 
zines of  a  certain  class.  The  North  American  Revieiv., 
Popular  Science  Monthly^  Forum,  Arena.  It  naturally 
devolves  on  the  one  who  opens  the  debate  to  clear  the 
ground  by  stating  the  question  in  full,  with  all  necessary 
amplification,  exposition  of  terms,  proposed  limitations, 
etc.  His  arguments,  too,  will  be  constructive  and  posi- 
tive. Of  course  he  is  at  liberty  to  anticipate  counter 
arguments,  objections  and  refutations.  Such  a  course 
will  tend  to  weaken  the  force  of  those  arguments  when 
they  are  brought  forward  by  an  opponent.  On  the 
other  hand,  there  is  the  risk  that  it  may  be  only  so 
much  wasted  energy,  for  an  opponent  may  choose  not 
to  advance  the  argument  or  objection  at  all,  though  if  he 
does  this  simply  because  he  feels  that  its  force  has  been 
already  weakened,  the  energy  can  hardly  be  considered 


DEBATE.  161 

wasted.  The  duty  of  tliose  who  follow  the  first  speaker 
or  writer  is,  primaril}^,  to  refute  the  arguments  advanced 
by  the  other  side  ;  and,  secondarily,  to  establish  the 
contrary.  This  latter  is  not  always  considered  essential; 
it  depends  somewhat  on  the  purpose  of  the  discussion 
and  the  form  in  which  the  question  is  stated. 

As  to  the  form  of  the  so-called  "question,"  it  is 
usually  a  declarative  proposition  and  not  an  interro- 
gation. This  makes  it  easier  to  distinguish  clearly 
between  the  affirmative  and  negative  sides,  the  one 
affirming  the  truth  of  the  proposition,  the  other  deny- 
ing it.  The  burden  of  proof  lies  with  the  affirmative. 
Three  courses  are  open  to  the  negative.  The  simplest 
one  is  merely  to  attempt  to  refute  all  the  arguments 
offered  in  support  and  so  leave  the  statement  unproved. 
Or  one  may  attack  the  statement  itself,  and,  if  possible, 
show  it  to  be  false,  thus  disproving  it.  The  third 
course  is  to  maintain  the  truth  of  some  contrary  prop- 
osition. This  last  is  practically  opening  a  new  ques- 
tion and  arguing  on  the  affirmative  side  of  it,  —  a 
question  however  which,  proved,  disproves  the  first. 
All  three  of  these  courses  may  be  adopted  in  the  same 
argument,  though  there  is  always  more  or  less  danger 
in  attempting  to  prove  too  much. 

The  question  is  not  only  usually  declarative  in  form, 
it  should  be  put  positively,  —  that  is,  it  should  not 
contain  a  negative,  for  this  is  apt  to  lead  to  comparison 
l)etween  the  terms  "affirmative  side"  and  "negative 
side."  Thus,  instead  of  saying  Resolved,  That  Pro- 
hibition does  not  Prohibit,  or  Resolved,  That  Prohi- 
Ijition  is  a  Failure,  cast  it  in  some  such  form  as  this.  Re- 
solved, That  Prohibitory  Laws  can  be  and  arc;  Enforced. 


162  AKGUMKNTATION. 

The  questions  offered  for  debate  in  tliis  exercise  are 
questions  of  fact.  They  must  be  argued  by  references 
to  observation  and  experience,  by  appeals  to  historical 
records,  to  statistics,  and  the  like.  The  writers  on  the 
negative  side  should  be  furnished,  if  not  with  the  entire 
paper,  at  least  with  an  outline  of  the  arguments  of  the 
afhrmative  side.  Merely  as  practice  in  dialectics  and 
as  a  help  toward  .attaining  the  philosophical  attitude  of 
fairness  and  tolerance,  it  will  be  found  profitable  occa- 
sionally to  defend  a  side  which  you  do  not  really  believe 
in.  But  the  most  effective  work  will  always  be  done 
in  defense  of  the  cause  you  cherish. 

Here  again  select  questions  of  local  and  present  in- 
terest if  possible. 


EXERCISE    LIV. 
DEBATE    (Continued). 

Questions  of  Opinion: 

Resolved,  That  Benedict  Arnold's  Action  at  West  Point  was  Ex- 
cusable. 

That  More  Restrictive  Immigration  Laws  would  be  to 
the  Best  Interest  of  the  United  States. 

That  Beauty  is  Its  Own  Excuse  for  Being. 

That  Vivisection  is  Justifiable. 

That  the  Prosperity  of  Our  Government  is  Threatened 
more  by  Centralization  than  by  Disintegration. 


Vast  numbers  of  questions  of  fact  remain  unsettled, 
—  historical,  geographical,  astronomical,  biological.  So 
long  as  they  are  admittedly  unsettled  they  are  suljjects 
for  investigation  and  not  for  argumentation.     It  is  only 


DEBATE.  163 

when  tliey  have  been  considered  settled  by  some  while 
others  dissent,  or  by  all  nntil  something  is  discovered 
which  reopens  the  qnestion,  that  there  is  occasion  for 
debating  them.  For  then  there  will  be  strong  argu- 
ments to  meet  and  prejudices  to  overcome.  The  Swiss, 
for  example,  are  loth  to  let  the  story  of  William  Tell's 
heroism  be  relegated  from  the  authenticity  of  history 
to  the  obscurity  of  myth  and  legend.  And  Kopernik 
and  his  followers  had  need  to  argue,  and  to  argue  per- 
sistently, before  they  could  hope  that  the  world  would 
give  up  the  Ptolemaic  theory  of  the  universe. 

But  after  all,  the  great  majority  of  debates  center 
about  matters  of  opinion,  questions  not  of  what  things 
are  but  of  what  they  ought  to  be,  questions  of  good  or 
l)ad,  of  right  or  wrong,  of  prudence  and  expediency. 
Shall  a  college  student  be  allowed  to  elect  his  studies  ? 
Shall  a  public  man  be  judged  by  his  private  life  ?  Is 
democracy  a  sound  political  principle  ?  Is  a  lie  ever 
justifiable  ?  Is  there  any  absolute  standard  of  morality  ? 
These  are  the  questions  that  continually  exercise  us 
and  call  forth  all  our  resources  for  attack  and  defense. 
There  is  nothing  so  provocative  of  debate  as  the  knowl- 
edge that  some  one  holds  an  opinion  at  variance  with 
our  own.  We  even  dispute  about  tastes  in  spite  of 
the  old  inhibition,  which  has  a  grain  of  sound  sense 
back  of  it. 

Let  us  admit  that  debate  on  matters  of  opinion  is  all 
light.  Uniformity,  among  all  individuals,  of  capabili- 
ties, acquirements,  and  tastes,  would  be  no  more  desira- 
ble tlian  uniformity  in  facial  features  and  expression. 
But  harmony  of  sentiment  in  such  matters  as  we  have 
alluded  to  above   is  in   the  maiii  desirable.     To  bring 


1^)4  ARcriMioNrA  ri(»N. 

about  this  liiii-niony  should  be  tlie  praiseworthy  object 
of  all  debate. 

Debaters  must  be  particularly  on  tlicir  guard  here 
against  a  danger  wliich  has  already  been  pointed  out 
(Exercise  XLVII.)  —  that  of  beginning  with  a  mis- 
understanding of  terms.  In  (juestions  of  fact  or  of  the 
relations  between  facts  this  danger  hardly  exists  ;  l)ut 
in  questions  of  the  relations  that  do  or  sliould  exist 
between  concepts  we  have  to  deal  with  terms  of  a  much 
more  indefinite  character  and  therefore  much  less  likely 
to  be  clearly  understood.  It  is  of  the  utmost  import 
ance  that  any  obscurities  on  this  i)oint  be  first  removed. 

Besides  this  danger  there  is  a  dithculty  often  met 
with  on  tlie  very  threshold  of  these  discussions  —  due 
to  what  may  be  styled  the  personal  equation.  It 
consists,  not  in  a  misundei-standing  of  the  terms  in- 
volved, but  in  a  difference  of  understanding  or  even  a 
radical  disagreement  in  regard  to  their  meaning.  The 
same  word  may  mean  one  thing  to  you  and  anotlier  to 
me,  or  what  you  may  call  by  one  name  I  may  prefer  to 
call  by  a  very  different  name.  This  is  due  to  many 
things, —  different  training,  different  standards,  different 
beliefs.  If  such  a  disagreement  exists  at  the  very 
starting-point  and  is  not  recognized,  the  discussion  is 
bound  to  be  unfruitful.  It  would  manifestly  be  useless 
for  two  persons  to  debate  upon  the  question  of  Ctesar's 
patriotism  unless  they  had  practically  the  same  idea  as 
to  what  patriotism  consists  in.  In  short,  one  question 
of  opinion  may  depend  upon  another ;  that  other  then 
must  be  settled  first.  Suppose  we  consider  the  question 
as  to  the  morality  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  principles. 
Now  we  are  told  that  to  Queen  Elizabeth  a  falsehood 


DEBATE.  165 

was  "simply  an  intellectual  means  of  meeting  a  diffi- 
culty." Our  question  cannot  be  settled  until  we  settle 
the  question  whether  lying  is  justifiable  or  consistent 
with  morality.  And  that  may  depend  on  our  answer 
to  the  still  more  fundamental  question,  Is  there  any 
absolute  standard  of  morality?  Beware  of  discussing 
any  question  of  opinion  until  you  are  sure  there  is  a 
unity  of  sentiment  on  all  questions  underlying  it. 

We  have  said  that  the  real  ol)ject  of  discussions  of 
this  class  should  ])e  to  Ijring  about  a  final  harmony  of 
opinion.  This  being  the  purpose  it  almost  goes  without 
saying  that  debates  should  be  conducted  with  the  utmost 
candor,  courtesy,  and  liberality.  Nothing  is  to  ])e 
gained  by  any  other  course,  while  everything  is  to  l^e 
lost. 

We  append  here  the  opening  of  an  argument  by 
Prof.  Andrew  F.  West  in  the  North  American  Mcvietv 
for  February,  1884  :  — 

MUST  THE   CLASSICS   GO? 

Is  classical  training  necessary  in  liberal  education  ?  To  a|> 
pi'eciate  this  question  we  must  first  know  what  education  means. 
Every  man  is  born  into  this  world  ignorant  both  of  himself  and 
his  surroundings,  but  to  act  his  part  so  as  to  reach  success  and 
happiness  needs  to  understand  them  both.  Therefore,  he  must 
learn  ;  and,  having  to  learn,  must  be  educated.  This  will  involve 
two  processes  :  — 

1.  The  development  of  man's  power  to  master  himself  and  cir- 
cumstances by  ti'aining  every  capacity  to  its  highest  energy  — 
discipline. 

2.  Communication  of  the  most  valuable  knowledge  —  informa- 
tion. 

Both  are  necessary.  Discipline  precedes  information,  because 
power  precedes  acquisition.     Information  completes  discipline  by 


1B6  ARGUMENTATrON. 

yielding  actual  re.sulls  in  (he  worlil.      In    a   word,  (lisciiilinc   gives 
power  to  acquire  informal  ion,  and  the  (otal  rcssult  is  culture. 

The  two  great  instrunieiits  of  educational  discipline  and  infor- 
ination  have  hitlierto  been  niatheniatics  and  language,  leading  to 
physical,  intellectual,  and  social  sciences,  and  these  again  culininid- 
ing  in  a  i>hiloso2)hy  or  study  of  lirst  principles  of  all  things.  On 
tiiis  basis  our  college  education  has  been  built.  None  propose 
excluding  iiuithematics.  Few  question  th('  wovA  of  studying  lan- 
guage in  some  form.  But  when  the  classical  languages  are 
proposed  as  essential  to  liberal  education,  objections  arise  and 
pronounced  attacks  are  made.  I  propose  merely  three  things  :  — 
I.  To  enumerate  the  objectors  and  answer  their  objections. 
1 1.    To  state  the  positive  argument  for  classical  training. 

111.    To  state  the  reasons  for  retaining  Greek  as  well  as  Latin. 


exercisp:  lv. 

DEBATE    (CuNTixuKD). 

Questions  of  ProhahUltij  : 

Resolved,  That  a  Great  European  War  is  Inevitable. 

That   Canada   will  be  Annexed    to    the    United    Stat'is 

within  Twenty-five  Yeai's. 
That  ]\Iars  is  Inhabited. 
That  Electricity  was  Known  to  the  ^Vncients. 


"  Probability  is  the  very  guide  of  life,"  said  Bishop 
Butler.  You  linger  a  little  longer  over  your  book  be- 
cause you  think  it  i)robable  that  by  walking  fast  you 
will  still  have  time  to  catch  the  train.  You  plant  a  tree 
because  you  think  it  j^robable  that  it  will  grow  up  to 
bear  fruit  and  that  you  will  live  to  reap  the  benefit. 
You  refuse  to  invest  your  money  in  certain  stocks  be- 


DEBATE.  167 

cause  you  think  it  improbable  that  they  will  ever  pay 
dividends.  You  part  from  your  dearest  friend  with  a 
smile  because  you  think  it  extremely  improbable  that 
anything  will  prevent  your  meeting  again  on  the  day 
appointed.  Questions  of  probability  are  something  more 
than  a  mathematician's  pastime. 

Many  questions  of  fact,  past  and  jDresent,  far  and 
near,  have  not  yet  been  settled,  and  may  never  be  settled 
beyond  a  certain  degree  of  probability.  But  there  is 
another  class  of  questions  which  we  do  not  hope  to 
settle  beyond  a  degree  of  probability.  Not  because  they 
do  not  involve  facts,  but  because  we  recognize  that  the 
facts  are  beyond  our  reach,  or  because  we  know  that 
the  future  alone  will  determine  them,  while  our  interest 
in  them  is  purely  a  present  one.  For  instance,  we  are 
content  for  the  })resent  to  speculate  upon  the  probaljle 
internal  structure  of  the  earth.  Perhaps  some  day  a 
serious  attempt  will  be  made  to  arrive  at  the  facts. 
Again,  we  are  confronted  with  the  question  of  what  the 
weather  will  Ije  to-morrow.  Now,  it  will  either  rain  or 
not  rain,  but  we  cannot  wait  to  learn  the  fact ;  and  we 
may  not  be  half  so  much  interested  in  knowing  the  fact 
when  it  comes  as  we  are  now  in  knowing  the  proba- 
bility, for  now  only  can  we  decide  the  question  whether 
we  shall  go  on  our  journey  provided  with  an  umljrella 
or  not.  Governing  our  present  action  by  the  jjrobability 
we  make  up  our  minds  to  accept  the  future  fact  with  as 
little  concern  as  possible. 

How  do  we  determine  the  2)i'()l)a])ility,  or,  as  we  often 
say,  the  chances,  that  a  thing  is  thus  and  thus  or  that 
an  event  will  liappen  in  a  certain  manner  ?  l>y  obser- 
vation and   experience,   by    induction    and    deduction. 


168  ARGUMENTATION. 

Every  imperfect  iiulucliou  is  luercly  tlie  exj)ressioii  of  a 
probability.  Every  deduction  carried  beyond  the  range 
of  actual  experience  is  likewise  only  a  probability. 

There  is  another  phase  of  this  matter.  There  is  a 
principle  of  reasoning,  how  obtained  we  cannot  discuss 
here,  which  declares  that  "  we  must  treat  equals  equally, 
and  what  we  know  of  one  case  may  be  affirmed  of 
every  case  resembling  it  in  the  necessary  circumstances." 
Of  course  experiment  may  be  necessary  to  determine 
whether  things  are  equal  or  not,  but  starting  with  this 
principle  we  calculate  probabilities  without  experiment- 
ation. Indeed  in  many  cases  the  experiment  proves 
nothing  whatever  in  regard  to  future  results,  —  it  only 
proves  the  principle.  I  toss  a  penny  into  the  air.  It 
has  two  sides  and  so  far  as  I  know  they  are  equal.  I 
know  it  will  fall  upon  one  side  or  the  other.  The  other 
conditions  I  do  not  know  and  can  not  control,  and  so  I 
say  that  there  is  only  an  even  chance  that  the  head  will 
fall  uppermost.  Suppose  it  falls  so.  I  conclude  noth- 
ing whatever  from  that  in  regard  to  the  manner  in 
which  it  will  fall  a  second  time.  Suppose  I  toss  it  up 
ten  times  and  the  head  comes  up  five  times,  the  tail 
five  times,  can  I  reason  that  it  will  be  so  the  next 
ten  times  ?  Not  at  all.  I  know,  each  time  I  toss  it, 
that  there  is  an  even  chance  of  tlie  head  coming  upper- 
most. Therefore  it  is  entirely  possible  that  it  will 
come  uppermost  ten  times  in  succession.  But  because 
the  chances  are  even  I  say  that  such  a  result,  though 
possible,  is  improbable  ;  that  it  is  most  probable  that 
head  and  tail  will  each  come  uppermost  five  times  ; 
that  the  next  greatest  probability  is  that  one  will  come 
uppermost  six  times  and  the  other  four;   that  it  is  most 


DEBATE.  169 

improbable  that  either  one  will  eome  up  ten  times  in 
succession.  By  such  laws  of  mere  probability,  without 
any  degree  of  certainty  whatever,  are  we  compelled  to 
determine  a  thousand  acts  of  our  everyday  life. 
Though  often  a  matter  of  mathematical  computation, 
serious  errors  have  been  made  and  there  is  room  for 
argument  even  here. 

There  is  still  more  room  foi'  argument  in  cases  that 
are  not  susceptible  of  mathematical  demonstration. 
Take  a  prophecy,  as  for  example  that  the  world  will 
come  to  an  end  next  week  or  in  the  year  2000,  or  let 
some  member  of  the  class  write  a  prophecy,  and  then 
debate  upon  the  probability  of  its  being  fulfilled.  Or 
take  any  current  newspaper  report  that  is  of  a  sur- 
prising or  sensational  nature  and  argue  from  antecedent 
probabilities  that  it  is  or  is  not  true.  Argumentative 
exercises  of  this  nature  may  be  made  extremely  interests 
ing  and  instructive. 


SECTION  III.  —  rEPvSlT A8I0N. 


EXERCISE    LVI. 

PERSUASIVE    DTSCOTTKSE    IN    GENERAL. 

Suhjerfs  : 

Have  We  a  Code  of  Honor?  Secrets  of  Success. 

The  American  Flag.  Complete  Living. 


"Conduct  is  tliree-fourtlis  of  life,"  says  Matthew  Ar- 
nold. Another  amends  this  and  says,  "Conduct  is  the 
wliole  of  life."  Living  means  something  more  than 
being  ;  it  means  something  more  than  knowing  or  be- 
lieving :  it  means  action,  conduct,  behavior.  The  man 
who  knows  without  acting  upon  that  knowledge  is  as  cen- 
surable as  the  man  who  acts  without  knowledge.  And 
what  does  the  Apostle  James  say  of  faitli  without 
works  ? 

The  office  of  persuasive  discourse  is  to  arouse  men  to 
action.  Exposition,  we  said,  presupposes  some  degree 
of  ignorance  on  the  part  of  those  addressed,  and  argu- 
mentation presupposes  error.  Persuasion  presupposes 
indifference,  inaction,  or  misdirected  action  ;  it  appeals 
to  tlie  emotions,  the  feelings.  Strange  as  it  seems,  we 
may  know  a  truth,  we  may  firmly  believe  it  to  be;  tiuth, 
and  yet  fail  to  take  it  home  to  ourselves,  to  act  upon  it-, 


172  PERSUASION. 

to  live  it,  to  concrete  it,  as  it  were,  in  our  dii.ily  conduct. 
We  know  it,  we  say,  l>nt  wc  fiiil  to  realize  it.  'i'hns  we 
know  that  tlie  earth  is  an  inuuense  si)here  wliirlino- 
througli  space  at  a  liioh  vehicity,  but  only  seldom  do  we 
realize  it,  and  it  may  he  questioned  whetlier  some  who 
know  the  fact  ever  realize  it  at  all  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  astronomer  does.  Iii  like;  maiuuir  we  know,  every 
one  of  us,  as  ])ositively  as  we  know  anything,  that 
sooner  or  later  we  shall  die,  but  only  at  rare  intervals 
does  that  fact  present  itself  to  us  in  its  full  significance. 
We  speak  of  it  and  write  of  it  a  hundred  times  to  once 
that  we  act  upon  it.  And  so  Ave  know  a  thousand 
things  with  a  sort  of  uncomprehending  knowledge,  a 
knowledge  that  leads  to  nothing.  Strange  iidiarmony 
of  the  human  intellect  and  will  !  Stamiation  is  death, 
we  say  ;  and  yet  we  stagnate  unconcernedly  whih;  wc; 
shudder  at  and  shiink  from  and  rebel  acfainst  death. 
Disobedience  to  the  laws  of  health  is  slow  suicide  ;  — 
we  do  not  for  a  moment  question  the  truth  of  that  ;  and 
yet  we  go  on  disobeying  those  laws  day  after  day  like 
ignoramuses  or  skeptics.  Rut  we  are  neither  one  nor 
tlie  other  for  we  know  and  we  believe  ;  we  sim})ly  will 
not  act  —  we  are  fools. 

Manifestly  there  is  a  field  for  Persuasion,  and  mani- 
festly, too,'  of  all  the  various  forms  of  literary  art  this 
may  be  made  the  most  practical  and  helpful.  It  will 
be  no  mistaken  endeavor  to  turn  in  this  direction  all 
the  knowledge  and  power  we  have  gained  by  our  previ- 
ous practice,  to  concentrate  it  upon  this,  the  supreme 
achievement  of  literary  labor. 

No  model  will  be  given  here.  It  may  be  noticed  that 
what  has  just  been  written,  though  ostensibly  exposi- 


APPEAL  TO  PERSONAL  INTEREST.        173 

toiy,  is  largely"  persuasive  in  character.  But  it  was 
written  without  any  consciousness  of  an  attempt  to  make 
it  such.  If  it  has  been  read  with  the  same  unconscious- 
ness so  much  the  better.  If  it  has  in  the  slio-htest 
degree  inspired  you  to  act,  to  write,  to  attempt  in  par- 
ticular to  persuade  others  to  act  upon  tlieir  knowledge 
and  beliefs  in  a  thousand  matters  of  everyday  life,  tlien 
it  has  not  been  written  in  vain. 


EXERCISE    LVII. 
PERSUASION   r.Y    APPEAL    TO    PERSONAL  INTEREST. 

S'uhjecU : 

Why  do  I  Need  Exercise  ? 

With  All  Thy  Getting  Get  Understanding.  —  Prov.  iv  :  7. 

Self-Preservation  is  Nature's  First  Law. 


Motives  of  private  and  personal  interest  are  con- 
fessedly determinative  in  most  of  our  ordinary  delibera- 
tions and  actions.  They  are  doubtless  stronger  with 
some  than  with  others,  and  it  is  often  difhcult  to  say 
just  how  far  a  man  shall  let  these  considerations  carry 
him  without  laying  liis  action  open  to  the  charge  of 
selfishness.  There  is  a  degree  of  egoism,  a  selfishness 
if  you  will,  that  few  of  us  presume  to  Ijlame.  Philoso- 
phers have  declared  that  self-preservation  is  our  first 
duty.  And  who  would  find  fault  with  a  man  for 
seeking  self-culture  and  self-advancement? 

Persuasion  that  would  accomplish  its  end  by  ajipeals 
to  these   motives   must  Ix;  founded  upon   a  study  and 


174  PERSUASION. 

knowledofc  of  luiman  nature.  We  must  know  the 
people  to  wlioin  we  appeal  and  we  must  vary  our 
appeals  to  suit  their  various  interests.  The  skillful 
politician  works  on  one  man's  feelino's  tln'on^j^li  his 
pride,  on  another's  through  his  love  of  indcipendcmce, 
on  another's  llnouo-h  his  avarice.  Of  course  these 
appeals  are  often  made  witli  unworthy  cnids  in  view. 
It  is  only  when  the  object  is  a  worthy  one  that  they  are 
justifiable.  Nor  does  that  mean  to  say  that  a  worthy 
end  will  justify  any  means  whatsoever,  but  that  the 
particular  means  contemplated  here  can  scarcely  be 
open  to  great  objection.  At  the  worst  it  is  only  taking 
advantage  of  men's  faults  for  their  own  and  others' 
good.  If  a  mail  notoriously  fond  of  ease  and  inaction 
can  l)e  roused  to  action  b}^  playing  upon  that  very 
weakness,  where  is  the  hai-m?  And  besides  that,  as 
we  have  said,  there  Jire  man}-  kinds  and  degrees  of 
egoistic  desires  that  cannot  be  called  faidts. 

Here  is  a  case  in  point.  A  certain  student  was 
injuring  his  health  by  too  severe  mental  work  supple- 
mented l)y  too  little  physical  exercise.  On  the  score 
of  health  his  friends  expostulated  with  him  in  vain. 
But  when  it  was  represented  to  him  that  if  he  would 
devote  one-tenth  of  his  time  to  exercise  he  would 
accomplish  more  and  better  work  in  the  remaining 
nine-tenths  than  he  could  otherwise  accomplish  in  the 
whole  time,  he  was  willing  to  make  the  experiment. 
Thus  his  friends  effected  that  in  which  they  were  chiefly 
interested  by  liolding  forth  an  inducement  of  a  very 
different  character  —  the  only  one  that  appealed  to  the 
student's  self-interest  as  he  was  pleased  to  consider 
it. 


APPEAL    TO    PEltSONAL    INTEREST.  175 

That  is  one  of  tlie  secrets  of  effective  persuasion. 
Another  is  this.  If  you  venture  to  appeal  to  a  motive 
so  conspicuously  seltish  as  to  he  unworthy,  you  nuist 
either  conceal  the  fact  that  you  think  it  unworthy  or 
else  in  some  way  ingeniously  conceal  the  fact  that  you 
are  appealing  to  the  motive  at  all.  But  there  is  always 
the  danger  that  ingenuity  even  in  a  good  cause  may 
descend  to  artifice,  and  though  siu-h  metliods  are  freely 
employed  in  liigh  places  the}^  are  not  always  to  be 
recommended.  Self-respect  should  l)e  maintained  at 
any  price,  and  if  there  is  no  otlier  way  of  effecting  an 
object  excejtt  l)y  an  appeal  to  base  motives  it  may  l)e 
better  in  tlie  end  t(^  leave  the  ol)ject  uneffected. 

A  delicate  way  of  persuading  otliers  is  to  pretend  to 
l)e  persuading  yourself.  The  sul)ject  "Why  do  I  Need 
Exercise?"  suggests  this  method  of  procedure.  In  any 
case  the  address  need  not  l)e  direct.  A  case  may  be 
assumed  and  the  person  addressed  l)e  trusted  to  see  the 
similarity  between  Jiis  own  case  and  the  assumed  one. 
Fables  and  paral)le8  are  commonly  constructed  on  this 
plan.  Or  direct  address  may  be  deemed  the  most 
cogent.  The  method  pursued  nuist  depend  on  the 
time,  the  person,  the  nature  of  tlie  appeal.  The  prime 
requisites  are  tact  and  the  ability  to  read  character  and 
to  divine  motives. 

ivionrnr.. 

A    PLEy\    FOTI    MORE    GENERAL    INSTRUCTTOX   TN 
PHYSIOLOGY. 

If  anyonn  {lnul)ts  the  iiiiportancc  of  an  ao.quaint.anco  with  the 
fiiiidaineiital  ]iriiici])l(>s  of  ^iliysiology  as  a  means  to  coini^lete 
living,  let  liiiii  look  aidiiml  ;in(l  see  how  many  men  and  women  he 

'■ail  (iiid  ill  iiiiildic  (ir  liili'i-  lilr    uIki    arc    I  linroiighly   well.      Occa- 


170  PERSUASION. 

sionally  only  do  we  moct.  with  an  example  of  vigorous  health 
continued  to  old  age  ;  liouily  do  we  meet  with  examples  of  acute 
disorder,  chronic  ailment,  general  (lel)ility,  premature  decrepitude. 
Scarcely  is  there  one  to  whom  you  put  the  (juestion,  who  has  not, 
in  the  course  of  his  life,  Itrought  upon  himself  illnesses  which  a 
little  knowledge  would  have  saved  him  from.  Here  is  a  case  of 
heart  disease  consequent  on  a  rheumatic  fever  that  followed  reck- 
less exposure.  There  is  a  case  of  eyes  spoiled  for  life  by  overstudy. 
Yesterday  the  account  was  of  one  whose  long-enduring  lameii<;ss 
was  brought  on  by  contiiniing,  spite  of  the  pain,  to  use  a  knee 
after  it  had  been  slightly  injured.  And  to-day  we  are  told  of  an- 
other who  has  had  to  lie  by  for  years,  because  he  did  not  know 
that  the  palpitation  he  suffered  from  resulted  fr(im  overtaxed 
bi-ain.  Now  we  hear  of  an  irremediable  injury  that  followed  some 
silly  feat  of  strength  ;  and,  again,  of  a  constitution  that  has  never 
recovei'ed  from  the  effects  of  excessive  work  needlessly  und(!rtaken. 
While  on  all  sides  we  see  the  perpetual  minor  ailments  which  ac- 
company feebleness.  Not  to  dwell  on  the  natural  pain,  the 
weariness,  the  gloom,  the  waste  of  time  and  money  thus  entailed, 
only  consider  how  greatly  ill-health  hinders  the  discharge  of  all 
duties  —  makes  business  often  impossible  and  always  more  diffi- 
cult ;  produces  an  irritability  fatal  to  the  right  management  of 
children  ;  puts  the  functions  of  citizenship  out  of  the  question, 
and  makes  amusement  a  bore.  Is  it  not  clear  that  the  physical 
sins  —  partly  our  forefathers'  and  partly  our  own  —  which  produce 
this  ill-health,  deduct  more  from  complete  living  than  anything 
else,  and  to  a  great  extent  make  life  a  burden  instead  of  a  bene- 
faction and  a  pleasure? 

To  all  of  which  add  the  fact  that  life,  besides  being  thus  im- 
mensely deteriorated,  is  also  cut  short.  It  is  not  true,  as  we 
commonly  suppose,  that  a  disorder  or  a  disease  from  which  we  have 
recovered  leaves  us  as  before.  No  disturbance  of  the  normal 
course  of  the  functions  can  pass  away  and  leave  things  exactly  as 
they  were.  In  all  cases  a  permanent  damage  is  done  —  not  im- 
mediately appreciable,  it  may  be,  but  still  there  ;  and,  along  with 
other  such  items  which  Nature  in  her  strict  account-keeping  never 
drops,  will  tell  against  us  to  the  inevitable  shortening  of  our  days. 
Throuuh  the  accumulations  of  small  injuries  it  is  that  constitu- 


APPEAL  TO  PERSONAL  INTEREST.       177 

tions  are  commonly  undermined,  and  break  down,  long  before 
their  time.  And  if  we  call  to  mind  liow  far  the  average  duration 
of  life  falls  below  the  possible  duration,  we  see  how  immense  is 
the  loss.  "When,  to  the  numerous  partial  deductions  wlucli  bad 
liealth  entails,  we  add  this  great  final  deduction,  it  results  that, 
ordinarily,  more  than  one-half  of  life  is  thrown  away. 

Hence,  knowledge  which  subserves  direct  self-preservation  by 
preventing  this  loss  of  healtli,  is  of  primary  importance.  We  do 
not  contend  that  possession  of  such  knowledge  would  by  any 
means  wholly  remedy  the  evil.  For  it  is  clear  that  in  our  present 
phase  of  civilization  men's  necessities  often  compel  them  to  trans- 
gress. And  it  is  clear  fui'ther  that,  even  in  the  absence  of  such 
compulsion,  their  inclinations  would  frequently  lead  them,  spite 
of  their  knowledge,  to  sacrifice  future  good  to  present  gratification. 
But  we  do  contend  that  the  right  knowledge  impressed  in  the  right 
way  would  elfect  much  ;  and  we  further  contend  that  as  the  laws 
of  health  nnist  be  recognized  before  tliey  can  be  fully  conformed 
to,  tlie  imparting  of  such  knowledge  nuist  precede  more  rational 
living  —  come  when  that  may.  We  infer  tliat  as  vigorous  health 
and  its  accompanying  high  spirits  are  larger  elements  of  happiness 
tluin  any  other  things  whatever,  the  teacliing  how  to  maintain 
them  is  a  teaching  that  yields  in  moment  to  no  other  whatever. 
And,  therefore,  we  assert  that  such  a  course  of  physiology  as  is 
needful  for  the  comprehension  of  its  general  truths,  and  their 
bearings  on  daily  conduct,  is  an  all-essential  part  of  a  rational 
education. 

Strange  that  the  assertion  should  need  making  !  Stranger  still 
that  it  should  need  defending  !  Yet  there  are  not  a  few  by  whom 
such  a  proposition  will  be  received  with  something  approaching  to 
derision.  Men  who  would  blush  if  caught  saying  Iphig6nia 
instead  of  Iphigenia,  or  would  resent  as  an  insult  any  imputation 
of  ignorance  respecting  the  fabled  la1)ors  of  a  fabled  demi-god, 
show  not  the  slightest  shame  in  confessing  that  they  do  not  know 
where  the  Eustachian  tubes  are,  what  are  tlie  actions  of  the  spinal 
cord,  what  is  the  normal  rate  of  pulsation,  or  how  the  lungs  are 
inflated.  While  anxious  that  their  sous  sliould  be  well  up  in  the 
superstitions  of  two  thousand  years  ago,  they  care  not  that  they 
should  be  tauglit  anytliing  about  the  structure  and   functions  of 


178  PEIJSrTASTON. 

their  own  l>odi(»s  —  nay,  WDiild  evcu  disapiu'oNc  such  ii:st ruction. 
So  ovcrwlw'lniiiiL;'  is  flic  iiillucuce  of  establishcil  routine  !  So  ter- 
rihly  in  onr  education  does  the  ornamental  override  the  useful  !  — 
Ilrrhcrl  S/iniccr. 


EXERC'ISE    LVm. 
TEllSUASTON    15 Y    APPEAL     TO    SOCIAL    DUTY. 

SiiJ>jrrft<  : 

A  Soft  Answer  Turnetli  Away  ^^'rat!l.  —  Prov.  xv  :  1. 

Cultivate  Courtesy. 

The  Exercise  of  Intelligence  in  X'oting-. 

Shall  We  Foster  the  Spirit  of  Patriotism? 


Few  if  any  of  ns  live  entirely  to  ourselves  ;  we  may 
not  therefore  live  entirely  for  ourselves.  As  long  as 
we  continue  to  be  the  sociable  creatures  we  are  and  take 
pleasure  in  human  companionship,  so  long  shall  we 
recognize  that  there  are  certain  duties  which  we  owe  to 
others  in  addition  to  the  duties  which  we  owe  to  our- 
selves. And  just  in  proportion  as  any  man  conceives 
of  this  altruistic  duty  as  paramount  to  the  egoistic 
one  is  he  hailed  as  philanthropist,  public  benefactor, 
patriot,  hero,  martyr.  To  say  that  the  selfish  ambition 
to  shine  in  these  roles  is  in  all  ciises  the  leading  motive 
is  to  malign  human  nature,  to  make  men  out  more 
selfish  than  some  of  the  lower  animals.  These  social 
duties  are  as  a  rule  cheerfully  performed  and  quite  as 
often  from  instinct  as  from  training  and  habit.  They 
range  from  the  unwritten  laws  of  courtesy  that  are 
observed  in  our  everyday  intercourse  to  the  codes  which 


APPEAL  TO  KELTGIOUS  DUTY.         179 

bind  together  into  one  political  and  social  organization 
entire  communities  and  nations.     . 

We  recognize  these  duties  and  are  in  the  main  will- 
ing to  fullill  them.  And  yet,  as  with  so  many  other 
tilings,  we  sometimes  fail  to  realize  them  fully ;  or 
we  have  a  wrong  conception  of  them  ;  or  we  neglect 
and  forget  them.  Hence  the  necessity  of  frequent  and 
and  strong  reminders,  and  hence  the  need  of  reformers 
and  reforms. 

When  an  appeal  is  made  to  social  duty  there  is  no 
need  of  concealing  the  fact,  for  if  one  kind  of  action 
is  more  generally  looked  upon  as  praiseworthy  than 
another  it  is  the  one  in  which  no  shadow  of  self-interest 
is  discernible.  The  nature  of  the  appeal  will  differ 
somewhat  according  to  circumstances  and  object.  It 
may  be  that  we  have  unconsciously  lapsed  from  a  strict 
observance  of  a  plain  duty  and  simply  need  a  timely 
reminder.  It  may  be  that  we  are  insensible  to  the 
exigencies  or  the  merits  of  the  case  and  need  to  be 
enlightened  and  aroused.  It  may  be  that  through  a 
misunderstanding  of  our  duty  we  are  wasting  good 
intentions  in  the  wrong  direction  and  need  to  be  set 
right.  It  may  be  that  new  conditions  bring  with  them 
new  obligations  which  we  need  to  have  presented  to  us 
clearly  and  cogently. 


EXERCISE    LIX. 
PERSUASION    BY   APPEAL    TO    RELIGIOUS   DUTY. 

Subjects : 

Virtue  Its  Own  Reward.  The  Sacredness  of  Life. 

The  Spirit  of  Intolerance.        Lack  of  Reverence  in  Ainci-ican 

Cruelty  to  Aninuils.  Youth. 


180  T'EIJSUASION. 

The  most  of  us  will  not  rest  content  with  the  per- 
formance of  our  duties  toward  ourselves  and  toward 
our  fellowmen.  We  feel  that  if  there  is  such  a  thin<'- 
as  duty  at  all  it  extends  further  than  this.  The  satis- 
fying of  our  sellish  and  social  instincts  leaves  one 
instinct  yet  unsatisfied,  —  the  religious.  We  recognize 
on  the  one  hand  the  limitation  of  our  powers  and  the 
finiteness  of  our  intellect,  and  on  the  other  hand  the 
inscrutable  mystery  of  things.  We  know  the  hopeless- 
ness of  knowing  everything  ;  know  that  the  farther  we 
extend  our  research  tlie  more  thickly  do  the  mysteries 
crowd  U2)on  us  and  the  deeper  do  they  grow,  that  each 
discovery  instead  of  narrowing  the  realm  of  the  un- 
known is  but  a  further  revelation  of  its  vastness  ;  and 
we  bow  before  an  Intelligence  that  so  infinitely  tran- 
scends our  own.  We  realize  that  we  are  but  insignificant 
parts  of  the  great  Whole,  and  this  brings  with  it  a 
realization  of  a  duty  not  only  to  ourselves  and  others 
like  us,  but  also  to  the  bird  in  the  tree,  the  flower  in 
the  field,  the  shell  on  the  shore,  and  to  the  Power  that 
works  in  and  through  them  all. 

This  duty  takes  many  forms,  —  non-interference, 
kindness,  service,  submission,  love,  reverence,  j^raise. 
Why  do  we  pity  the  caged  bird,  and  step  aside  to  let 
the  flower  grow  unharmed,  and  treasure  and  study  the 
curious  shell  ?  Why  do  we  stand  in  silent  awe  or  burst 
into  spontaneous  tributes  of  admiiution  before  the  terrors 
and  glories  of  the  natural  world  ?  It  is  the  gratifica- 
tion of  a  religious  instinct,  the  performance  of  a  relig- 
ious duty. 

An  appeal  to  this  duty  is  the  loftiest  appeal  that  can 
be  made  to  man,  since  it  is  farthest  removed  from  any 


APPEAL   TO    RELIGIOUS    DUTY.  181 

possible  charge  of  sordid  selfishness.  Therefore  to 
comport  with  this  character,  the  language  and  style  of 
composition  should  be  reverent,  dignified,  lofty,  and 
thoroughly  sincere.  The  following,  taken  from  an 
argument  by  Herbert  Spencer  on  the  relative  value  of 
various  kinds  of  knowledge,  is  practically  a  plea  for 
the  study  of  science  addressed  to  all  wliose  sense  of 
religious  duty  has  a  controlling  influence  over  their 
action. 

Lastly  we  have  to  assert  —  and  the  assertion  will,  we  doubt  not, 
cause  extreme  surprise  —  that  the  discipline  of  science  is  superior 
to  that  of  our  ordinary  education,  because  of  the  religious  culture 
that  it  gives.  Of  course  we  do  not  here  use  the  words  scientific 
and  religious  in  their  ordinary  limited  acceptations  ;  but  in  their 
widest  and  highest  acceptations.  Doubtless,  to  the  superstitions 
that  pass  under  the  name  of  religion,  science  is  antagonistic  ;  but 
not  to  the  essential  religion  which  these  superstitions  merely  hide. 
Doubtless,  too,  in  much  of  the  science  tliat  is  current,  there  is  a 
pervading  spirit  of  irreligion  ;  but  not  in  that  true  science  which 
has  passed  beyond  the  supei'ficial  into  the  profound. 

So  far  from  science  being  irreligious,  as  many  think,  it  is  the 
neglect  of  science  that  is  irreligious  —  it  is  the  refusal  to  study  tlie 
surrounding  creation  that  is  irreligious.  Take  a  humble  simile. 
Suppose  a  writer  were  daily  saluted  with  praises  couched  in 
superlative  language.  Suppose  the  wisdom,  the  grandeur,  the 
beauty  of  his  works,  were  the  constant  topics  of  the  eulogies 
addressed  to  him.  Suppose  those  who  unceasingly  uttered  these 
eulogies  on  his  works  were  content  with  looking  at  the  outsides  of 
them ;  and  had  never  opened  them,  much  less  tried  to  understand 
them.  AVhat  value  should  we  put  upon  their  praises?  AVhat 
shoidd  we  think  of  their  sincerity?  Yet,  comparing  small  things 
to  great,  such  is  the  conduct  of  mankind  in  general,  in  reference 
to  the  Universe  and  its  Cause.  Nay,  it  is  worse.  Not  only  do 
they  pass  by  without  study,  these  things  which  they  daily  proclaim 
to  be  so  wonderful ;  but  very  frequently  they  condeinn  as   mere 


182  PERSUASION. 

triflers  those  wlio  give  time  to  tlie  observation  of  Nature  —  they 
actually  scorn  those  who  show  any  active  interest  in  tliese  niai-vels. 
AVe  repeat,  tlien,  Uiat  not  science,  but  the  neglect  of  science,  is 
n-religious.  Devotion  to  science  is  a  tacit  worship  —  a  tacit 
recognition  of  worth  in  tlie  things  studied  ;  and  by  implication  in 
their  Cause.  It  is  not  a  mere  lii>-homage,  but  a  homage  ex- 
pressed in  actions  —  not  a  mere  professed  respect,  but  a  respect 
proved  by  the  sacrifice  of  time,  tliought,  and  hibor. 

Xor  is  it  thus  only  that  true  science  is  essentially  religions.  It 
is  religious,  too,  inasmuch  as  it  generates  a  profound  res2)ect  for, 
and  an  implicit  faitli  in,  those  uniform  laws  which  underlie  all 
things.     By  accumulated  experiences  the  man  of  science  acquires 

a  thorough  belief  in  the  unchanging  relations  of  phenomena in 

the  invariable  connection  of  cause  and  consequence  —  in  the 
necessity  of  good  or  evil  results.  Instead  of  the  rewards  and 
punishments  of  traditional  belief,  whicli  men  vaguely  hope  they 
may  gain,  or  escape,  spite  of  their  disobedience;  lie  finds  that 
there  are  rewards  and  punishments  in  the  ordained  constitution 
of  things,  and  that  the  evil  results  of  disobedience  are  inevitable. 
He  sees  that  the  laws  to  which  we  must  submit  are  not  oidy 
inexorable  but  beneficent.  He  sees  that  in  virtue  of  tliese  laws, 
the  process  of  things  is  ever  toward  a  greater  perfection  and  a 
higher  happiness.  Hence  he  is  led  constantly  to  insist  on  these 
laws,  and  is  indignant  when  men  disregard  them.  And  thus  does 
he,  by  asserting  the  eternal  principles  of  things  and  the  necessity 
of  conforming  to  them,  prove  liimself  intrinsically  religious. 

To  all  wliich,  add  the  further  religious  aspect  of  science,  tliat  it 
alone  can  give  us  true  conceijtions  of  ourselves  and  our  relation  to 
the  mysteries  of  existence.  At  the  same  time  that  it  shows  us  all 
which  can  be  known,  it  shows  us  the  limits  beyond  which  we  can 
know  notliing.  Not  by  dogmatic  assertion  does  it  teach  the 
impossibility  of  comprehending  the  ultimate  cause  of  things  ;  but 
it  leads  us  clearly  to  recognize  this  impossibility  by  bringing  us 
in  every  direction  to  boundaries  we  cannot  cross.  It  realizes  to 
us  in  a  way  which  nothing  else  can,  tlie  littleness  of  human 
intelligence  in  the  face  of  that  which  transcends  human  intelli- 
gence. While  towards  the  traditions  and  authorities  of  men  its 
attitude  may  be  proud,  before  the  impenetrable  veil  which  hides 


OBATORY.  183 

the  Absolute  its  attitude  is  humble  — a  true  pride  and  a  true 
humility.  Only  the  sincere  man  of  science  (and  by  this  title  we 
do  not  mean  tlie  mere  calculator  of  distances,  or  analyzer  of  com- 
pounds, or  labeller  of  species  ;  but  him  who  through  lower  truths 
seeks  higher,  and  eventually  the  highest)  —  only  the  genuine  man 
of  science,  we  say,  can  truly  know  how  utterly  beyond,  not  only 
human  knowledge,  but  human  conception,  is  the  Universal  Power 
of  which  Nature,  and  Life,  and  Thought  are  manifestations. 


EXERCISE   LX. 

ORATORY.  —  OCCASIONAL    FORMS. 

Sifhjects  : 

Speech  in  Commemoration  of  Washington's  Birthday. 

Longfellow's  Birthday. 
Declaration  of  Independence. 
Address  for  Arbor  Day. 

Memorial  Day. 
Commencement. 
Thanksgiving. 
On  the  Unveiling  of  a  Monument  to  General  Grant. 
Dedication  of  the  Public  Library. 
President's  Inaugural  Address. 
Speech  in  Response  to  the  Toast,  "  Our  Guest." 

"  The  Prize-winners." 
<'  Once  Upon  a  Time." 
"  Our  Future." 


While  Exposition,  Argumentation,  and  Persuasion 
are  clearly  distinct,  it  is  just  as  impossiljle  to  keep  tliem 
always  separate  as  it  is  to  keep  Narration  and  Descrip- 
tion separate.  All  tliree  are  often  employed  in  the 
same  discourse  and  there  is  no  reason  why  they  should 


lb-1  PERSUASION. 

not  be.  Still  for  convenience  we  may  wish  to  dis- 
tingnish  the  discourse  as  belonging  to  one  class  or  the 
other,  and  then  we  shall  have  to  be  guided  by  what 
seems  to  be  its  principal  object,  whether  it  is  intended 
to  inform,  to  correct,  or  to  arouse,  whether  it  aims  to 
explain  a  fact,  to  prove  a  statement,  or  to  influence  an 
action.  We  have  seen  that  an  argument  may  be  most 
effective  sometimes  if  made  up  almost  wholly  of  expo- 
sition. In  like  manner  the  ends  of  persuasion  may 
often  be  effected  by  simple  exposition  or  argument,  or 
by  a  combination  of  the  two.  The  citation  from  Herbert 
Spencer  in  the  last  exercise  contained  scarcely  a  directly 
persuasive  word  and  yet  it  was  offered  as  an  exam})lc 
of  persuasive  discourse  because  its  object  so  manifestly 
is  to  move  people  to  lay  more  stress  on  scientific  studies 
in  ordinary  education. 

The  precise  method  adopted  in  any  case  will  depend 
on  many  considerations,  —  on  the  general  character  of 
the  persons  appealed  to,  on  their  present  attitude  and 
feeling,  on  the  kind  of  action  desired,  whether  calm  or 
violent,  immechate  or  remote,  etc.  Thus  far  we  have 
treated  of  persuasive  discourse  that  is  written  and  in- 
tended to  be  read.  In  such  the  calmer  expository  and 
argumentative  methods  are  very  appropriate.  When 
we  come,  as  we  now  do,  to  the  more  ordinary  form 
under  which  this  style  of  discourse  is  found,  declama- 
tion, oratory,  these  methods  will  naturally  fall  into  the 
background  in  order  to  give  more  j)rominence  to  direct 
address  and  stirring  appeals. 

It  has  been  said  that  oratory  is  on  the  decline,  that 
we  have  no  more  Ciceros,  Pitts,  Burkes,  Websters, 
Beechers.     Perhaps  this  is  true  in  a  certain  degree.     It 


ORATORY.  185 

may  well  be  that  the  extension  of  printing,  making  it 
possible  to  appeal  at  once  to  a  vast  andience "  in  nearly 
every  part  of  the  world,  has  dwarfed  the  importance  of 
oratory.  Why  shonld  people  crowd  the  galleries  of 
our  congressional  halls  when  they  can  read  the  speeches 
over  their  coffee  the  next  morning  ?  Or  why  should  a 
speaker  address  a  huncbed  people  here  and  another 
hundi-ed  there,  when  he  can  with  so  little  trouble  put 
his  speech  in  print  and  address  thousands  ? 

But  of  course  the  peculiar  charm  and  value  of  oratory 
are  not  dead.  People  will  still  be  made  to  listen  who 
could  never  be  made  to  read,  and  people  hearing  will 
be  aroused  who  reading  would  sit  unmoved.  And  men 
speaking  will  still  find  their  tongues  tipped  with  a 
fire  which  would  never  irradiate  the  point  of  their 
pens. 

Nor  is  the  need  for  oratory  past.  A  felicitous  re- 
sponse to  a  toast  will  give  a  life,  a  character,  and  a  unity 
to  a  dinner-party  that  nothing  else  can  give.  In  no 
more  fitting  way  than  b}^  a  fervent  speech  can  we  dedi- 
'cate  buildings  and  consecrate  enterprises.  Inaugural 
addi-esses,  baccalaureate  addresses,  Labor-day  speeches, 
memorial  sermons,  Fourth  of  July  orations,  —  all  of 
these  occasional  forms  of  oratory  we  still  demand,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  forms  regularly  practiced  in  politics, 
the  law,  the  ministry,  etc.  It  will  be  noticed  that  into 
some  of  these  forms  the  element  of  persuasion  scarcely 
enters  at  all,  but  since  they  come  under  the  general 
head  of  oratory  it  seems  best  to  include  them  here. 

The  following  plain  but  graceful  speech  was  delivered 
at  a  public  dinner  in  Philadelphia  in  1846  by  the  Hon. 
Samuel  Breck,  who  presided.     The  address  is  compli- 


186  PERSUASION. 

mentary  to  Daniel  Webster,  in  whose  honor  the  dinner 
was  given  ;  — 

Gentlemen  :  — I  rise  to  propose  a  toast,  expressive  of  the  great 
esteem  and  honor  in  wliich  we  hold  the  ilhistrious  guest  whom  we 
are  assembled  to  welcome.  It  is  cause  for  felicitation  to  have  this 
oiiportunity  to  receive  him,  and  to  meet  him  at  our  festive  board. 

Jn  riiiladelphia  we  liave  long  been  accustomed  to  follow  him, 
with  earnest  attention,  in  his  high  vocations  in  the  legislative  hall 
and  in  the  Cabinet  ;  and  have  always  seen  him  there  exercising 
liis  great  talents  for  the  true  interests  of  our  wide-spread  Ee]iubli('. 
And  we,  in  common  with  the  Amei-ican  people,  have  felt  the  inlhi- 
ence  of  his  wisdom  and  patriotism.  In  seasons  of  danger,  he  has 
been  to  us  a  living  comforter  ;  and  more  than  once  has  restored 
this  nation  to  serenity,  security,  and  prosperity. 

In  a  career  of  more  than  thirty  years  of  political  agitation,  he, 
with  coTirageous  constancy,  unwavering  integrity,  and  eminent 
ability,  has  carried  out,  as  far  as  his  agency  could  prevail,  the  true 
principles  of  the  American  system  of  government. 

For  his  numerous  public  services  we  owe  him  mncli,  and  we 
open  our  grateful  hearts  to  him  in  tlianks  ;  we  say  to  him,  with 
feelings  of  profound  respect  and  warm  affection,  that  we  are  re- 
joiced at  his  presence  here,  amid  his  Philadelpliia  friends  —  his 
faithful  Philadelphia  friends  and  admirers. 

Tliirteen  years  hiter,  and  seven  years  after  the  death 
of  Daniel  Webster,  the  seventy-seventh  anniversary  of 
the  great  statesman's  birthday  was  commemorated  hj-  a 
banquet  at  which  tlie  orator,  Rufus  Choate,  made  an 
adch-ess.  The  opening  words  of  that  address  were  as 
follow  :  — 

I  would  not  have  it  snj^posed  for  a  moment  that  I  design  to 
make  any  eulogy,  or  any  speech,  concerning  the  great  man  whose 
birthday  we  have  met  to  observe.  I  hasten  to  assure  you  that  I 
shall  attempt  to  do  no  such  thing.  There  is  no  longer  need  of  it, 
or  fitness  for  it,  for  any  ])urpose.  Times  have  been  when  such  a 
thing   might  have  been  done  with  propriety.     Whili!  he  was  yet 


ORATORY.  187 

personally  among  us,  while  he  was  yet  walking  in  his  strength  in 
the  paths  or  ascending  the  heights  of  active  public  life,  or  stand- 
ing upon  them,  —  and  so  many  of  the  good  and  wise,  so  many  of 
the  wisest  and  best  of  our  country,  from  all  parts  of  it,  thought 
lie  had  title  to  the  great  office  of  our  system,  and  would  have  had 
him  formally  presented  for  it,  —  it  was  fit  that  those  who  loved 
and  honored  him  should  publicly  — •  with  effort,  with  passion,  with 
argument,  with  contention  —  recall  the  series  of  his  services,  his 
life  of  elevated  labors,  finished  and  unfinished,  display  his  large 
qualities  of  character  and  mind,  and  compare  him,  somewhat,  in 
all  these  things,  with  the  great. men,  his  competitors  for  the  great 
prize.  Then  was  there  a  battle  to  be  fought,  and  it  was  needful 
to  fight  it. 

And  so,  again,  in  a  later  day,  while  our  hearts  were  yet  bleeding 
with  the  sense  of  recent  loss,  and  he  lay  newly  dead  in  his  cham- 
ber, and  the  bells  were  tolling,  and  his  grave  was  open,  and  the 
sunlight  of  an  autumn  day  was  falling  on  that  long  funeral  train, 
I  do  not  say  it  was  fit  only,  it  was  unavoidable,  that  we  all,  in 
some  choked  utterance  and  some  imperfect,  sincere  expression, 
should,  if  we  could  not  praise  the  patriot,  lament  the  man. 

But  these  times  have  gone  by.  The  race  of  honor  and  duty  is 
for  him  all  run.  The  high  endeavor  is  made,  and  it  is  finished. 
The  monument  is  builded.  lie  is  entered  into  his  glory.  The 
day  of  hope,  of  pride,  of  grief,  has  been  followed  by  the  long  rest ; 
and  the  sentiments  of  grief,  pride,  and  hope,  are  all  merged  in  the 
sentiment  of  calm  and  implicit  veneration.  We  have  buried  him 
in  our  hearts.  That  is  enough  to  say.  Our  estimation  of  him  is 
yiart  of  our  creed.  We  have  no  argument  to  make  or  hear  upon 
it.  We  enter  into  no  dispute  about  him.  We  permit  no  longer 
any  man  to  question  us  as  to  what  he  was,  what  he  had  done,  how 
much  we  loved  him,  how  much  the  country  loved  him,  and  how 
well  he  desei-ved  it.  We  admire,  we  love,  and  we  are  still.  Be 
this  enough  for  us  to  say. 

Is  it  not  enough  that  we  just  stand  silent  on  the  deck  of  the 
bark  fast  flying  from  the  shore,  and  turn  and  see,  as  the  line  of 
coast  disappears,  and  tin-  headliuids  and  hills  and  all  the  land  go 
down,  and  tlie  islands  are  swallowed  up,  the  great  mountain 
standing  there  in  its  strenglli  and  majesty,  supreme  and  still  —  to 


188  PERSUASION. 

Bee  liow  it  swells  away  up  from  the  subject  and  fading  vale  ?  to 
see  that,  thougli  clouds  and  tempests,  and  the  noise  of  waves,  and 
the  yelping  of  curs,  may  be  at  its  feet,  eternal  sunshine  has  settled 
upon  its  head  ? 


EXERCISE    LXI. 
ORATORY.  —  THE    STUMP. ' 

Subjects : 

The  Need  of  Civil  Service  Reform.  Down  with  INIonopolies. 

Irish  Home  Rule.  Dignity  of  Labor. 

Freedom  of  the  Press.  Political  Rings  and  Bosses. 

Purification  of  the  Ballot.  Female  Suffrage. 

State  Rights  and  Individual  Rights.  Municipal  Misrule. 
Uphold  the  Constitution. 


In  this  country  every  Presidential  campaign  and 
indeed  every  local  election  involving  important  issues 
gives  occasion  to  the  politician  to  endeavor  by  public 
speeches  to  influence  votes  and  increase  his  constituency 
or  that  of  his  favorite  candidate.  Owing  to  an  early- 
day  frontier  practice  of  speaking  from  the  stumps  of 
trees,  such  speakers  are  still  commonly  said  to  "  take 
the  stump."  In  England  and  Ireland  they  '^  mount 
the  hustings." 

Doubtless  this  method  of  electioneering  is  much 
abused ;  but  we  may  not  decry  it  on  that  account. 
The  addresses  are  made  directly  to  the  voters  and  often 
to  a  class  of  voters  who  do  not  read  much  and  who 
need  enlightenment  on  the  issues  of  the  day.  The 
difficulty  lies  in  the  fact  that  nearly  all  of  these  great 
questions  have  two  sides,  each  with  its  sincere  advocates, 


ORATORY.  189 

and  a  speaker  is  apt  to  be  misled  by  his  enthusiasm  to 
make  out  a  good  case  and  unduly  influence  votes  by 
representing  his  side  in  a  too  favorable  light.  But  never- 
theless we  indulge  such  championship  even  to  the  extent 
of  partisanship,  feeling  that  full  discussion  is  better  than 
none  at  all  and  trustino-  that  in  the  Iouq-  run  "  ever  the 
right  comes  uppermost,  and  ever  is  justice  done." 

With  pui'ely  extemporaneous  speaking  we  have  noth- 
ing to  do  except  in  so  far  as  the  practice  of  writing 
speeches  may  assist  in  the  development  of  an  oratorical 
style.  For  speeches  —  even  after-dinner  speeches,  even 
stump  speeches  —  are  written  or  prepared  beforehand, 
the  great  majority  of  them.  A  really  good  extem- 
poraneous speech  is  rare,  for  it  requires  the  happy 
combination  of  a  rare  man  and  a  rare  occasion.  Given 
this  combination,  you  have  an  ideal  address. 

Right  here  we  get  a  clew  to  the  secret  of  writing  a 
successful  oration  :  we  must  make  it  conform  as  nearly 
as  possible  to  our  ideal  of  an  extemporaneous  one. 
That  there  should  be  certain  differences  between  written 
discourse  and  spoken  discourse,  that  is,  between  that 
which  is  intended  to  be  read  and  that  which  is  intended 
to  be  heard,  few  will  deny.  In  delivering  an  adch-ess 
you  will  have  to  face  an  audience,  look  people  in  the 
eye,  hold  their  attention,  play  on  their  feelings,  endure 
their  displeasure  or  receive  their  applause.  In  prepar- 
inor  the  address  beforehand  all  this  should  be  borne  in 
mind.  Imagine  as  vividly  as  you  can  that  you  have 
your  audience  before  you  ;  do  not  lose  sight  of  it  for  a 
moment ;  write  to  it  as  you  will  have  to  talk  to  it ;  use 
terms  of  direct  address  —  gentlemen,  friends,  fellow- 
citizens —  wherever  they  seem  natural   and  not  over- 


190  PERSUASION. 

formal ;  be  genial,  frank,  gracions  yet  earnest,  familiar 
yet  dignified,  'i'he  advantages  of  personal  directness 
of  addi"ess,  of  getting  so  close  to  your  audience  that 
they  will  almost  feel  as  if  you  held  them  hy  the  hand, 
cannot  be  over-estimated.  One  of  tlie  most  telling 
stump-speeches  the  present  writer  ever  heard  was 
addressed  almost  tlirougliout  to  a  particular  person  in 
the  audience  who  was  a  good  type  of  the  class  whom  the 
speaker  wished  to  reach.  lie  proceeded  in  al)out  this  style : 

You  know  how  it  is,  sir  —  you,  sir,  sitting  there  in  the  fourth 
row  of  seats  on  the  right  of  the  aisle.  You  will  remember  that 
Just  four  years  ago  tliis  fall  I  was  driving  througli  the  country 
here  and  staid  over  night  with  you.  You  remember  how  you 
were  disposed  to  complain  then  because  you  had  not  realized 
enough  on  your  abundant  wheat  harvest  to  pay  for  the  machinery 
you  had  bought  that  year  and  because  you  couldn't  see  how  the 
corn-crop  was  going  to  clothe  your  family  through  the  winter.  I 
asked  you  how  you  were  voting  and  you  said  that  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  matter.  And  then  I  said  that  if  you  thought  that 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  you  surely  could  not  see  any 
liarm  in  making  the  experiment  of  voting  the  other  way  and  of 
getting  a  hundred  other  farmer's  to  make  the  experiment  with 
you.  Did  you  make  the  experiment?  I  am  afraid  not.  Certain 
it  is  that  the  hundred  others  did  not,  for  -wlion  returns  from  the 
district  came  in  you  had  rolled  up  the  same  old  majority.  And 
what  is  the  result?  Yom-  receij)ts  are  just  as  far  from  covering 
your  expenditures  to-day  as  they  were  four  years  ago  to-day. 
Deny  it  if  you  can. 


EXERCISE   LXII. 
ORATORY.  —  THE   BAR. 

Eloquence  is  oratory  at  its  best ;  it  is   chfficult  to 
define  it  more  accurately  than  that.     True  eloquence 


ORATORY.  191 

does  not  lie  in  words  alone  ;  nor  in  the  speaker  alone  ; 
nor  yet  in  the  hearer  or  the  occasion.  Rather  it  seems 
to  lie  in  all  of  these.  For  the  same  words  uttered  by 
the  same  man  will  seem  sublime  at  one  time  and  ridicu- 
lous at  another,  or  will  ring  eloquent  in  the  ears  of  one 
man,  ])ombastic  in  the  ears  of  another.  When  a  man's 
words  move  and  stir  us  to  the  very  depths  of  our  being, 
when  they  make  us  forget  ourselves  completely,  so  that 
we  are  ready  to  laugh  and  weep,  even  to  rise  and  follow, 
at  his  command,  we  say  that  man  is  elo(|uent.  But  we 
do  not  analyze  the  spell  he  casts  over  us  nor  attempt  to 
wrest  from  him  the  a\  liolc  secret  of  liis  power. 

But  if  we  do  not  knoAV  just  what  eloquence  is,  we 
know  some  thino-s  that  it  is  not.  We  know  for  one 
thing  that  it  is  not- grandiloquence.  Long,  sonorous 
Avords  and  lofty,  higli-sounding  plu'ases  are  no  necessary 
part  of  it  ;  they  are  rather  apt  to  Ije  fatal  to  it.  There 
may  be  more  eloquence  in  one  fitly  spoken  word,  nay  in 
silence  itself,  than  in  the  most  ingenious  rhetoric.  Read 
the  twentieth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  according  to  St. 
John  and  feel  the  effect  of  one  word  which  Jesus  utters  : 
Jesus  saith  unto  her,  Mary.  And  can  anything  be  more 
simple  and  more  sublime  than  the  prayer  from  the  same 
lips  as  the  rabble  reviled  him  gathered  about  the  cross. 
Father.,  forgive  them  ;  for  they  know  not  what  they  do. 

Strained  figures  are  as  fatal  to  eloquence  as  fantastic 
words.  It  may  be  questioned  whether  a  deliberate 
figure  of  speech  is  ever  found  in  passages  where  elo- 
quence takes  its  highest  flight.  Indeed,  violence  of  any 
kind,  in  words  as  well  as  in  utterance  and  gesture,  is  to 
be  sedulously  avoided  ;  ranting  and  spread-eagleism  find 
favor  only  with  the   indiscriminating  few.     This  does 


li^'2  PERSUASION. 

not  mean  that  there  is  to  be  no  exhibition  of  life  or 
energy.  On  the  contrary,  tJiis  is  usually  a  most  essential 
thing  in  oratory.  The  precaution  refers  only  to  that 
affected  energy  or  that  excess  of  energy  which  over- 
shoots  its  mark. 

If  we  may  draw  any  principle  from  these  observa- 
tions, it  would  seem  to  be  that  fundamental  principle  of 
all  literary  effort,  Be  natural ;  be  true  to  yourself,  to 
your  audience,  and  to  your  theme.  Fine  language  is 
well  enough  if  it  flows  from  lips  familiar  with  its  utter- 
ance. Sentiment  is  well  enough  if  it  springs  from  the 
heart.  Fervor  and  enthusiasm  are  all  rieht  so  Iouq-  as 
they  are  sincere.  Indeed,  it  is  wholly  useless  to  attempt 
to  feign  these  things.  Eloquence  is  not  like  a  glove, 
to  be  put  on  and  off  at  j^leasure..  Few  men  can  be  im- 
posed upon  by  a  display  of  false  sentiment.  Assume 
an  emotion  you  do  not  feel  and  the  chances  are  ten  to 
one  that  the  deception  will  be  detected  at  once  and 
resented.  Betray  an  emotion  that  the  occasion  does  not 
warrant  and  the  result  will  be  equally  disastrous. 

In  the  particular  kind  of  oratory  had  in  view  in  the 
present  exercise,  namely,  the  j^leading  of  an  advocate  at 
the  bar  of  justice,  argument  will  naturally  constitute 
the  staple  of  the  material.  But,  as  the  ultimate  object 
is  not  merely  to  demonstrate  truths,  but  to  persuade 
juries  to  act  according  to  those  truths,  other  than  purely 
argumentative  elements  can  not  be  excluded  :  the  plea 
is  bound  to  take  on  more  or  less  of  the  nature  of  an 
appeal.  It  is  difficult  to  suggest  subjects  for  this  work. 
The  best  method  of  getting  material  is  to  conduct  a 
mock  trial.  Another  method  is  to  try  some  historical 
character  before  an  imaginary  tribunal  for  certain  alleged 
acts  of  his  or  hers. 


ORATORY.  193 

We  give  below  an  extract  from  a  speecli  made  by- 
Daniel  Webster  before  a  jury  in  ISoO.  J.  F.  Knapp 
and  J.  J.  Knapp  were  charged  with  the  murder  of 
Captain  Joseph  White.  J.  J.  Knapp  confessed  that 
one  Richard  C'rowninshield  had  been  hired  by  them  to 
commit  tlie  murder,  whereupon  Crowninshield  com- 
mitted suicide.  The  confession  Avas  then  withdrawn 
and  the  Knapps  were  indicted,  with  the  result  that 
they  were  convicted  and  executed.  Webster  spoke  for 
the  prosecution. 

Against  the  prisoner  at  tlie  bar,  as  an  individual,  T  cannot  have 
the  slightest  prejudice.  I  vi^ould  not  do  him  the  smallest  injury 
or  injustice.  But  I  do  not  affect  to  be  indifferent  to  the  discovery 
and  the  punishment  of  this  deep  guilt.  I  cheerfully  share  in  the 
opproln-iuin,  how  nnich  soever  it  nuxy  be,  which  is  cast  on  those 
who  feel  and  manifest  an  anxious  concern  that  all  who  had  a  part 
in  planning  or  a  hand  in  executing  this  deed  of  midnight  assas- 
sination may  be  brought  to  answer  for  their  enormous  crime  at 
the  bar  of  public  justice. 

This  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  In  some  respects  it  has 
hardly  a  precedent  anywhere,  certainly  none  in  our  New  England 
Instory.  This  bloody  drama  exliibits  no  suddenly  excited, 
ungovernable  rage.  .  .  . 

An  aged  man,  without  an  enemy  in  the  world,  in  his  own  house, 
and  in  his  own  bed,  is  made  the  victim  of  a  butcherly  murder  for 
mere  pay.  Truly,  here  is  a  new  lesson  for  painters  and  poets, 
whoever  shall  hereafter  draw  the  portrait  of  murder,  if  he  will 
show  it  as  it  has  been  exhibited  in  an  example,  where  such  ex- 
ample was  last  to  have  been  looked  for,  in  the  very  bosom  of  our 
Xew  England  society,  let  him  not  give  it  the  grim  visage  of 
Moloch,  tlie  brow  knitted  by  revenge,  the  face  black  with  settled 
hate,  and  the  blood-shot  eye  emitting  livid  fires  of  malice.  Let 
him  draw,  rather,  a  decorous,  sinooth-faced,  bloodless  demon  ;  a 
picture  in  repose,  rather  than  in  action  ;  not  so  much  an  example 
of  human  nature  in  its  depravit}^,  and  in  its  paroxysms  of  crime. 


194  PEKSUASION. 

as  an  infernal  nature,  a  ficMid  in  Uif  ordinary  display  and  develoi> 
ment  of  his  character. 

The  deed  was  executed  with  a  degree  of  self-possession  and 
steadiness  equal  to  the  wickedness  with  which  it  was  planned. 
The  circumstances,  now  clearly  in  evidence,  spread  out  the  whole 
scene  before  us.  J)eep  sleep  had  fallen  on  the  destined  victim, 
and  on  all  beneath  his  roof.  A  healthful  old  num,  to  whom  sleep 
was  sweet,  the  first  sound  slumbers  of  the  night  held  him  in 
their  soft  but  strong  embrace.  The  assassin  enters  through  the 
window,  already  prepared,  into  an  unoccupied  apartment.  With 
noiseless  foot  he  paces  the  lonely  hall,  half-lighted  by  the  moon  ; 
lie  winds  up  the  ascent  of  the  stairs,  and  reaches  the  door  of  the 
chamber.  Of  this,  he  moves  the  lock  by  soft  and  continued 
pressure  till  it  turns  ou  its  hinges  without  noise  ;  and  he  enters, 
and  beholds  his  victim  before  him.  The  room  was  uncommonly 
open  to  the  admission  of  light.  The  face  of  the  innocent  sleeper 
was  turned  from  the  murderer,  and  the  beams  of  the  moon,  resting 
on  the  gray  locks  of  his  aged  temple,  showed  him  where  to  strike. 
The  fatal  blow  is  given  !  and  the  victim  passes,  without  a  struggle 
or  a  motion,  from  the  repose  of  sleep  to  the  repose  of  death  !  .  .  . 

Meantime  the  guilty  soul  cannot  keep  its  own  secret.  It  is 
false  to  itself,  or  rather  it  feels  an  ii-resistible  impulse  of  con- 
science to  be  true  to  itself.  It  labors  under  its  guilty  possession 
and  knows  not  what  to  do  with  it.  The  human  heart  was  not 
made  for  the  residence  of  such  an  inhabitant.  It  finds  itself 
preyed  on  by  a  torment,  w^hicli  it  dares  not  acknowledge  to  God 
or  man.  A  viilture  is  devouring  it,  and  it  can  ask  no  synii)athy 
or  assistance  either  from  heaven  or  earth.  The  secret  which  the 
murderer  possesses  soon  comes  to  possess  him  ;  and,  like  the  evil 
spirits  of  which  we  read,  it  overcomes  him,  and  leads  him  whither- 
soever it  will.  He  feels  it  beating  at  his  heart,  rising  to  his 
throat,  and  demanding  disclosm-e.  He  thinks  the  whole  world 
sees  it  in  his  face,  reads  it  in  liis  eyes,  and  almost  hears  its  work- 
ings in  the  very  silence  of  his  thoughts.  It  has  become  his  master. 
It  betrays  his  discretion,  it  breaks  down  his  courage,  it  conquers 
his  prudence.  When  suspicions  from  without  begin  to  embarrass 
him,  and  the  net  of  circumstance  to  entangle  him,  the  fatal  secret 
struggles  with  still  greater  violence  to  burst  forth.     It  must  be 


ORATORY.  19^ 


confessed,  it  will  be  confessed  :  there  is  no  refuge  fi'om  confession 
but  suicide,  and  suicide  is  confession. 


EXERCISE    LXIII. 
ORATORY.  —  THE    LEGISLATURE. 

Svbjects  : 

Plea  for  International  Copyright.  Needed  Postal  Legislation. 

Restriction  of  Foreign  Immigration.     Shall  the  State  License  Lot- 
Distribution  of  Public  Lands.  teries? 


Spoken  discourse  ranges  from  the  plainest  talk  to  the 
most  elaborate  address.  At  the  one  extreme  will  ho, 
found  the  easy,  familiar,  colloquial  style  of  conversa- 
tion ;  at  the  other  the  lofty  diction  that  accompanies 
formal,  dignified  oratory.  But  there  are  certain  char- 
acteristics that  run  through  all  varieties  and  grades 
and  serve  to  distinguish  tliem  from  written  discourse. 
From  a  mere  grammatical  and  rhetorical  standpoint 
greater  looseness  of  structure  is  admissible  and  greater 
license  generally.  Occasionally  constructions  which 
would  not  pass  in  writing  may  be  ventured  upon  here 
l)ecause  the  intonation  of  the  voice  and  the  whole  man- 
ner of  the  speaker  can  redeem  them  from  any  possilile 
charge  of  obscurity,  weakness,  or  inelegance.  Just  as 
our  everyday  conversation  is  full  of  broken  and  unfin- 
ished sentences,  so  we  may  expect  to  find  them  in  a 
speech  w^here  the  speaker  is  supposed  to  adopt  the  sug- 
gestions of  the  occasion  and  to  follow  the  impulses  of 
his   own    emotions.     Short  sentences   are  to  be  chosen 


196  PEESUASIOX. 

rather  than  long,  and  all  lono-  ones  should  be  simple 
and  straiu'htforward  in  (■(•nstnictioii.  This  is  for  clear- 
ness'  sake,  for  a  s])c;ikfr  can  lake  no  chances  on  that 
score.  A  reader  can  l;ii  hack  and  read  a  sentence  a  sec- 
ond ur  third  time  if  lie  docs  not  understand  it  the  first, 
but  an  auditor  must  understand  it  at  once  or  not  at  all. 
For  the  same  reason  frequent  repetition,  which  is  ol> 
jectionable  in  a  book,  is  tolerable  and  even  desirable  in 
a  speech.  By  this  is  meant  a  repetition  of  thought  in 
a  new  form,  though  at  times  the  repetition  may  extend 
to  the  words  themselves  and  still  be  effective.  And 
above  all  this  we  shall  expect  in  spoken  discourse  a 
greater  warmth  of  utterance,  a  freer  display  of  emotion, 
and  a  fuller  infusion  of  the  speaker's  personality. 

In  the  last  exercise  we  dealt  with  oratory  as  an  in- 
strument for  protecting  society  by  persuading  men  to 
fulfill  the  intent  of  the  law.  In  the  present  exercise 
we  deal  with  oratory  of  a  broader  scope ^ — -that  which 
has  for  its  aim  the  persuading  of  a  recognized  body  of 
legislators  to  make,  amend,  modify,  or  repeal  tlic  laws 
by  which  civil  institutions  must  stand  or  fall.  This 
means  in  our  country  the  oratory  of  the  Senate  and 
House  of  Representatives,  of  the  State  Assemblies  and 
Legislatures,  and  various  local  Councils  and  Boards. 
There  are  numberless  questions  continually  pressing 
upon  the  states  and  the  nation  that  will  afford  a  rich 
v^ariety  of  material  for  orations.  Nearly  every  city, 
village,  and  school-district,  too,  has  under  deliberation 
questions  that  are  just  as  vital  to  its  prosperity  as  these 
larger,  national  ones  —  questions  of  sewerage  systems, 
railway  franchises,  street-paving  contracts,  improvement 
of  highways,  etc.,  etc.     Or,   if  you  are   drawing  up  a 


OKATOHY.  197 

constitution  for  a  debating  society,  or  believe  that  the 
rules  of  any  organization  with  which  you  are  connected 
need  modification  or  amendment,  write  a  speech  urging 
the  measures  you  would  like  to  have  adopted.  The 
language  in  all  of  these  cases  will  be  largely  argu- 
mentative, of  course,  and  the  appeal  will  be  to  both 
personal  and  social  duty. 

The  following  sentence  from  an  editorial  in  the 
Christian  Union  will  suggest  one  way  of  handling  the 
third  subject  in  the  list  given  above  : 

A  clever  Frenchnuui  once  said  that  the  old  aristocrats  distributed 
jiublic  wealth  upon  the  principle,  "  To  each  according  to  his  breed  "; 
the  plutocrats  on  the  principle,  ''  To  each  according  to  his  greed  "; 
the  communists  on  the  principle,  "  To  each  according  to  liis  need  "; 
the  socialists  on  tlie  })rinciple,  •'  To  each  according  to  his  deed." 
In  Oklahoma  the  jarinciple  is,  "  To  each  according  to  his  speed," 
and  it  is  certainly  the  most  irrational  of  all. 

The  following  outline  of  the  second  subject  is  offered 
as  a  model  : 

FOREIGN  IMMIGKATION  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  SHOULD 

BE  CHECKED. 
I.    Introduction. 

(I.    AVhen  immigration  is  bcnelicial. 

//.    >Mien  should  it  be  checked  in  the  United  States? 

II.    Immigrants  in  general. 

a.    Past  conditions  under  which  tliey  began  life  in  our 

country. 
h.    Present  conditions  under  which  they  begin  life  here. 
c.    Their  disappointment  and  its  effect. 

III.    Paupers. 

(I.    Tlu'ir  character  and  condition. 
h.    TJieir  effect  upon  our  laboring  class. 
c.    Concrete  examples   from   Pennsylvania,   Ohio,   New 
England,  and  Michigan. 


108  PERSUASIOX. 

IV.    Aiiarc-liists. 

a.    Their  ideas  of  government  and  religion. 

/'.    Their  power. 

r.    Tlieir  ignorance,  and  stand  regarding  education. 

(!.    'J'ht'ir  moral  condition. 

c.    Wliy  especially  dangerous  in  the  United  States. 

V.    Chinese. 

a.    Ditfer  Iroui  Aiiiericaus  in  race,  religion,  and  civiliza- 
tion. 
h.    0])j<'c't:  in  coniiug  to  America. 

c.  Results  : 

1.  They  carry  away  our  gold. 

2.  Lower  standards  of  life. 

o.    Hinder  tlie  development  of  the  country. 

4.  Help  monopolies. 

5.  Corrupt  the  youth. 

VI.    Immigrants  in  general. 

a.  Their  great  numbers. 
//.  Tendency  to  colonize. 
r.    Impossibility  of  Americanizing  such  vast  numbers. 

d.  Influence  of  clergy  over  certain  classes. 

e.  Their  opposition  to  public  schools. 

/.    Their  alarmingly  bad  moral  influence  in  our  cities. 

VII.    Conclusion. 

a.    Immigration  should  be  checked  in  the  United  States 

because  the  conditions  for  such  a  coui'se  are  now 

realized. 
h.    Self-preservation  the  first  law  of  nature. 
c.    How  to  protect  our  nation  and  secure  its  permanency. 

The  following  paragraphs  are  from  a  speech  before 
the  House  of  Rej)resentatives  by  the  Hon.  R.  H.  Hitt, 
on  the  bill  to  amend  certain  sections  of  the  Revised 
Statutes  relating  to  lotteries  : 

IMr.  Speaker  :  The  lottery  is  the  most  pernicious  and  wide- 
spread form  of  gambling  vice,  because  it  uses  for  its  instrument 
the   Post-Office    Department ;    that   is,   the    Government.      The 


ORATOEY.  199 

ordinary  gambling-hell  is  confined  to  one  house  and  its  fre- 
quenters. A  lottery  spreads  through  the  whole  nation;  it  reaches 
everywhere,  and  it  does  it  by  the  aid  of  the  Government.  It  was 
not  for  this  that  we  built  up  oiu"  magnificent  postal  system,  which 
is  supported  at  such  vast  expense  annually.  Yet  that  postal 
system  is  the  instrument  to-day  and  might  almost  be  called  the 
partner  or  accessory  of  this  great  swindling  scheme.  .   .  . 

Without  the  aid  of  the  Government  through  the  Post-OfRce 
Department,  the  whole  business  would  be  cut  down  to  a  mere  local 
gambling  establishment  answerable  to  the  police  powers  of  the 
local  government.  That  is  what  I  trust  this  bill  will  do.  It 
broadens  the  present  law  so  that  a  lottery  letter  can  be  followed 
after  it  is  mailed  at  !N'ew  Orleans  or  Washington,  which  are  the 
centers  of  the  lottery  business,  and  the  offenders  punished  W'herever 
the  letter  goes,  —  not  alone  in  Louisiana,  where  juries  can  be 
readily  affected  by  the  tremendous  power  of  the  lottery  company. 

It  will  close  the  mails  to  newspapers  advertising  lotteries,  which 
will  be  a  long  step  toward  destroying  their  means  of  reaching  and 
deluding  the  victim  Ijy  alluring  advertisements  and  promises  which 
appeal  to  the  cupidity  of  the  ignorant  and  unthinking  who  hasten 
to  be  rich  without  labor.  Nor  does  it  in  the  least  interfere  with 
the  inviolability  of  the  seal  upon  letters,  which  will  be  as  sacred 
hereafter  as  they  have  been  and  always  should  be.  It  authorizes 
the  Postmaster-General,  upon  satisfactory  evidence,  which  will 
soon  be  obtained  by  the  agents  of  the  Department,  in  regard  to 
the  character  of  lottery  letters,  to  stop  their  transmission  tlu-ough 
the  mails  and  institute  proceedings  to  punish  those  sending.  We 
know  that  the  Postmaster-General  will  faithfully  and  zealously 
perform  his  part  if  we  do  ours  and  pass  this  bill.  Let  us  do  it, 
and  do  it  now. 


EXERCISE    LXIV. 

ORATORY.  —  THE    PULPIT. 

Subjects  : 

It  is  More  Blessed  to  Give  than       Clu-istian  Conduct. 

to  Receive.  Man  shall  Not  Live  by  Bread 

Till'   Diitv  of  Self-Abnegation.  Alone;. 


200  PEKSUASION. 

The  orator's  success  depends  in  no  small  degree  upon 
his  skill  ill  adapting  his  style  to  his  audience.  A  stump 
speaker  in  the  backwoods  will  naturally  adopt  a  very 
different  tone  from  that  of  a  legislator  on  the  floor  of 
Congress,  even  though  he  may  be  speaking  on  the  same 
subject.  An  ignorant  demagogue  will  hardly  succeed 
in  moving  a  cultivated  audience,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  an  address  that  is  "  over  the  heads  "  of  the  hearers 
is  equally  futile.  Either  extreme  is  to  be  avoided  — 
that  of  descending  below  or  of  rising  too  far  above  the 
intellectual  level  of  those  addressed.  It  may  be  occa- 
sionally that  an  orator's  end  is  best  subserved  by 
assuming  to  place  his  auditors  on  a  higher  plane,  thus 
flattering  their  self-esteem.  But  if  they  are  allowed  to 
suspect  that  this  is  done  purposely  they  will  naturally 
feel  insulted  and  withhold  their  sympathy.  Again,  it 
may' seem  best  to  endeavor  to  strike  their  own  level,  to 
talk  to  them  just  as  they  might  be  expected  to  talk 
themselves.  The  danger  here  is  that  they  may  realize 
they  are  being  "  talked  down  to  "  and  feel  that  their 
intelligence  is  being  underrated.  Tlie  story  is  told  of 
Patrick  Henry  that  in  certain  of  his  speeches  in  Virginia 
he  went  so  far  as  to  imitate  the  very  dialect  of  the 
backwoodsmen.  But  the  effect  was  not  what  he  calcu- 
lated upon.  His  hearers  knew  that  this  was  only  an 
imitation  and  therefore  an  artifice.  They  would  have 
listened  more  respectfully  and  more  willingly  had  he 
kept  to  his  natural  style. 

Taking  all  these  things  into  consideration  it  would 
seem  that  in  general  the  best  tone  to  adoj)t  is  one  some- 
what above  the  level  of  the  audience,  provided,  of 
course,  that  this  is  natural  to  the  speaker  and  not  beyond 


ORATOKY.  201 

his  own  powers.  An  audience  naturally  assumes  that 
a  speaker  lias  more  knowledge  or  power  than  they  of 
the  kind  he  purposes  to  exhil)it  or  they  would  not  come 
to  hear  him.  And  even  if  he  does  go  beyond  their  in- 
telligence now  and  then  they  will  hardl}^  resent  it,  for 
it  is  rather  gratifying  than  otherwise  to  the  average  man 
to  have  it  assumed  that  he  knoA^'s  somewhat  more  than 
he  actually  dues.  Only,  the  speaker  must  guard  against 
excursions  and  flights  in  which  his  audience  will  Avholly 
fail  to  follow  him.  Tlie  intricacies  of  politics  and  the- 
ology, the  technicalities  of  science,  and  the  abstractions 
of  philosophy,  would  clearly  be  out  of  place  before  a 
mixed  assemblao-e. 

This  maybe  said  further  :  In  general,  the  higher  the 
intelligence  of  the  auditors  the  more  averse  will  they 
be  to  rant  aiul  bombast,  the  more  quickly  will  they  re- 
sent any  attem})t  to  influence  tlieir  judgment  l)y  emo- 
tional appeals,  the  more  A\'ill  they  care  for  simple. facts 
and  disj^assionate  reason.  Not  that  they  are  necessarily 
less  emotional,  or  take  less  pleasure  in  giving  play  to 
their  emotional  natures,  only  they  realize  that  action 
should  be  governed  by  wisdom  and  judgment  rather 
than  by  mere  impulse.  If  they  wish  to  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  this  emotional  nature  they  know  they  have 
other  resources,  the  drama,  for  instance,  and  poetry, 
Avhere  there  is  little  or  no  ])ersuasion  to  positive  and 
immediate  action. 

Pul[)it  oratory  is  i)eculiarly  apt  to  be  of  the  emotional 
type.  If  religion  is  a  matter  of  sentiment,  of  the  feel- 
ings purely,  there  certainly  can  be;  no  objection  to  this. 
But  people  are  beginning  to  demand  a  reason  for  every- 
thing they  do,  aiid  to  suspect  any  religious   movement. 


202  PERSUASION. 

as  they  would  suspect  any  political  movement,  whieh 
does  not  invite  full  intellectual  investigation  ;  and  so 
simple  exhortation  in  the  pulpit  is  more  and  more  giving 
place  to  exposition  and  argument. 

A  good  example  of  the  first  kind  of  preaching  may 
be  found  in  the  second  chapter  of  George  Eliot's 
Adam  Bede.  The  following  example  of  pulpit  oratory 
is  taken  from  the  opening  and  close  of  a  sermon  by 
the  Rev.  Dr.  Talmage  : 

.  .  .  There  are  ten  thousand  ways  of  telling  a  lie.  A  man's 
entire!  life  may  be  a  falsehood,  wlule  with  his  lips  he  may  not  once 
directly  falsify.  There  are  those  who  state  what  is  positively  un- 
true, but  afterward  say  "  may  be  "  softly.  These  departures  from 
the  truth  are  called  white  lies,  but  there  is  really  no  such  thing  as 
a  white  lie.  The  whitest  lie  that  was  ever  told  was  as  black  as 
perdition.  There  are  men  high  in  church  and  state,  actually  use- 
ful, self-denying,  and  honest  in  many  things,  who,  upon  certain 
sidjjeets  and  in  cei-tain  spheres,  are  not  at  all  to  be  depended  upon 
for  veracity.  Indeed,  there  are  multitudes  of  men  who  have  their 
notion  of  truthfulness  so  thoroughly  perverted  that  they  do  not 
know  when  they  are  lying.  With  many  it  is  a  cultivated  sin  ; 
with  some  it  seems  a  natural  infirmity.  I  have  known  people  who 
seemed  to  have  been  born  liars.  The  falsehoods  of  their  lives  ex- 
tended from  cradle  to  grave.  Prevarication,  misrei:)resentation, 
and  dishonesty  of  speech,  appeared  in  their  first  utterances  and 
were  as  natural  to  them  as  anj-  of  their  infantile  diseases,  and 
were  a  sort  of  moral  croup  or  spiritual  scarlatina.  But  many 
have  been  placed  in  circumstances  where  this  tendency  has  day 
by  day  and  hour  by  hour  been  called  to  larger  development. 
They  have  gone  from  attainment  to  attainment,  ami  fi-om  class  to 
class,  until  they  have  become  regularly  graduated  liars. 

The  air  of  the  city  is  filled  with  falsehoods.  They  hang 
pendent  from  the  chandeliers  of  our  finest  residences.  They 
crowed  the  shelves  of  some  of  our  merchant  princes.  They  fill 
the  sidewalk  from  curb-stone  to  brown-stone  facing.     They  cluster 


ORATORY.  20 


round  the  mechanic's  hanniier,  and  Idossom  from  tlie  end  of  the 
merchant's  yardstick,  and  sit  in  the  doors  of  churches.  Some  call 
them  "  fictiun."  Some  style  them  "fabrications."  You  might 
say  that  they  were  subterfuge,  disguise,  illusion,  romance,  evasion, 
pretence,  fable,  deception,  misrepresentation  ;  but,  as  I  am  igno- 
rant of  anything  to  be  gained  by  the  hiding  of  a  God-defying  out- 
rage under  a  lexicographer's  blanket,  I  shall  chiefly  call  them  in 
plainest  vernacular  —  lies.  .  .  . 

Let  us  all  strive  to  be  Avluit  we  appear  to  be,  and  banish  front 
our  lives  everything  that  looks  like  deception,  remembering  that 
God  will  yet  reveal  to  the  universe  what  we  really  are. 

To  many,  alas,  this  life  is  a  masquerade  l)all.  As  at  such 
entertainments  gentlemen  and  ladies  appear  in  the  dress  of  kings 
and  queens,  mountain  bandits  or  clowns,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
dance  throw  oft"  their  disguises,  so  many  all  through  life  move  in 
mask.  Across  the  floor  they  trip  merrily.  The  lights  sparkle 
along  the  wall  or  drop  from  the  ceiling,  a  very  cohort  of  fire. 
The  feet  bound,  gemmed  hands  stretched  out  clasp  gemmed 
hands,  dancing  feet  respond  to  dancing  feet,  gleaming  brow 
bends  low  to  gleaming  brow.  On  with  the  dance  !  Flash  and 
rustle  and  laughter  and  immeasurable  merrynraking  !  But  the 
languor  of  death  comes  over  the  limbs  and  blurs  the  sight. 
Lights  lower  ;  floors  hollow  with  selpulchral  echo  ;  music  saddens 
into  a  wail.  Lights  lower  ;  the  maskers  can  hardly  now  be  seen  ; 
flowers  exchange  their  fragrance  for  a  sickening  odor,  such  as 
comes  from  garlands  that  have  lain  in  vaults  of  cemeteries. 
Lights  lower;  luists  fill  the  room;  glasses  rattle  as  though  shaken 
by  sullen  tluinder  ;  siglis  seem  caught  among  the  curtains  ;  scarf 
falls  from  the  shoulder  of  beauty  —  a  shroud.  Lights  lower  ; 
over  the  slippery  boards  in  dance  of  death  glide  jealousies,  dis- 
appointments, lust,  despair  ;  torn  leaves  and  withered  garlands 
only  half  hide  the  ulcered  feet  ;  the  stench  of  the  smoking  lamp- 
wicks  almost  quenched,  choking  damps,  chilliness,  feet  still,  hands 
folded,  eyes  shut,  voices  hushed.     Lights  out ! 


204  PERSUASION. 

EXERCTRI-:    l.XV. 

ORA'J'ORY.  —  THE    TLATFORM. 

Slihjf'rfs  : 

The  Greatest  Need  of  tlie  Age.  "  Sweetness  and  Light." 

The  Passion  Phiy  at  Obci-aniiiiergau.  Tlie  Stability  of  Aiuprican 
Stones  of  the  Stars.  Institutions. 

The  Faculty  of  Appreciation.  The  Coming  Race. 
The  Puritans. 


On  the  public  lecture  platform  oratory  finds  perhaps 
its  broadest  scope.  Here  subjects  are  drawn  from  every 
possible  field,  appeals  are  made  to  every  conceivable 
motive,  and  the  style  i-anges  from  the  humorous  to  the 
pathetic  and  the  sublime.  Here  then  the  orator  has 
full  play  of  his  powers  and  may  be  expected  to  use 
every  resource  at  his  command. 

The  object  of  a  public  lecture  is  not  in  general  to 
arouse  people  to  any  particular  or  hasty  action  ;  oftener 
this  would  seem  to  be  very  far  from  its  purpose.  And 
no  doubt  the  people  are  inclined  to  look  upon  it  solely 
as  a  means  for  their  instruction  or  entertainment.  But 
it  is  more  than  that.  The  lecture  platform  is  a  means 
for  bringing  the  great  leaders  of  the  world's  thought 
and  action  into  closer  touch  with  the  masses  whom  they 
lead.  ""J'he  true  public  orator  realizes  this.  lie  knows 
tliat  Avhile  he  may  instruct  and  amuse  he  does  it  to 
better  purpose  than  that.  He  knows  that  his  responsi- 
bility is  great  because  his  opportunity  is  great  and  his 
influence  incalculal)le.  He  knows  that  the  fitly  and 
•fervently   spoken   word   shall  fall  as  a  seed  into   the 


ORATORY,  205 

hearts  of  his  hearers  to  germinate  in  due  season  and 
blossom  into  lovely  or  unlovely  characters  and  bear 
fruit  in  deeds  that  shall  be  a  curse  or  a  blessing  to  all 
humanity.  With  this  realization  full  upon  him  he  may 
well  feel  that  there  is  no  dignity  or  sincerity  or  wisdom 
or  strength  that  he  should  not  strive  to  attain. 


PART  III. 


Miscellaneous  Forms. 


Introductory :  Scope  and  Complete  Method  of 

Composition. 


In  the  foregoing  Parts,  following  the  commonly 
accepted  division  of  the  subject  of  Composition,  we 
have  made  a  survey  of  the  whole  field,  so  far  as  seemed 
practicable.  It  has  frequently  been  seen  how  the 
several  divisions  overlap  and  intermingle,  making  any- 
thing like  a  sharply  defined  and  therefore  exhaustive 
division  impossible.  It  will  be  seen  further  that  prom- 
inence of  any  element  or  attribute  not  made  the  basis 
of  our  division  —  peculiar  qualities  of  style,  specific 
practical  or  literary  purposes,  etc., — gives  rise  to  forms 
not  sufficiently  provided  for  in  our  method.  They 
could  be  fitted  into  our  scheme  of  classification  doubt- 
less, but  the  process  would  involve  embarrassing  distor- 
tion. All  the  old  principles  must  hold  good,  too,  but 
there  will  have  to  be  modifications  and  adaptations  to 
accord  with  the  peculiar  form  or  specific  purpose. 

Because  of  this  a  few  exercises  are  added  here  deal- 
ing with  the  more  prominent  forms  of  composition  that 
thus  arise.  The  list  cannot  be  complete,  and  may  not 
be  very  helpful,  Ijut  it  will  at  least  serve  to  show  how 
varied  and  interesting,  practice  in  writing  can  be  made. 
Special  subjects  are  not  given,  Imt  the  student  will 
readily  find  oi'  make  them.  A  character  self-developed 
and  self-portrayed  by  speech  or  action  ;  a  dialect  sketch, 
Yankee,  Hoosier,  Creole,  Negro,  Chinese ;  a  critical 
review  of  a  favorite  book,  of  the  last  lecture,  opera, 
play ;  a  fashion   note,  a    bit  of  gossip ;  a   story   from 


210  MISCELLANEOUS    FORMS. 

country,  village,  or  city  life;  a  romance,  a  ghost  story; 
a  reminiscence,  a  di'eain,  a  meditation;  —  the  variety  of 
themes  is  endless. 

One  thing  will  bear  emphasis  here.  It  has  already 
been  dwelt  upon  in  Exercises  IV.  and  XXVIII.- 
XXX.  It  is  the  art  of  selection.  It  rests  simply 
upon  the  fact  that  nothing  is  equally  important  at  all 
times,  nor  all  things  at  the  same  time.  True  gener- 
ally, this  is  particularly  true  in  letters.  The  mere  fact 
that  a  thing  exists  is  not  sufficient  excuse  for  thrust- 
ing it  upon  our  attention.  We  hold  some  things  of 
more  account  than  others  and  cannot  afford  to  spend 
time  over  those  that  neither  harm  nor  help  nor  interest 
us.  And  truth  itself  may  often  do  none  of  these. 
Besides  Ave  have  a  higher  conception  of  the  province  of 
art  than  the  mere  reproduction  of  things  as  they  are 
without  even  a  change  of  combination.  Actual  facts, 
truth  —  science  is  concerned  with  that.  But  there  is 
another  kind  of  truth,  with  which  art  is  concerned  — 
truth  to  what  might  be,  ought  to  be,  ought  not  to  be. 
Fidelity,  not  only  to  what  is,  but  to  what  is  proI)able  or 
j)ossible  —  grant  this  to  be  within  the  scope  of  art  and 
you  have  a  conception  worthy  of  a  creative  mind.  The 
art  of  selection  therefore  means  much.  It  looks  for- 
ward to  combination,  construction  —  such  creation  as 
we  are  capable  of.  It  means  that  this  feature  must  be 
taken  intact,  that  feature  must  be  modified,  the  other 
must  be  rejected.  It  means  that  each  part  must  be 
good  and  appropriate  and  that  all  })arts  must  fit  to- 
gether so  that  the  whole  shall  be  good.  For  practical 
suggestions  relative  to  this  process  the  student  is 
referred   to    the  Exercises  cited  above.     More  can  be 


NEWS.  211 

learned  in  the  attempt  to  apply  the  principles  and  in' 
the  study  of  successful  work.  And  the  mere  keeping 
in  mind  the  necessity  of  cultivating  this  art  of  selection 
and  rejection  will  help  toward  its  better  attainment. 

If  now  we  take  Mr.  Ruskin's  canon  —  '•'■  Remember 
always,  you  have  two  characters  in  which  all  greatness 
of  art  consists  :  —  First,  the  earnest  and  intense  seizing 
of  natural  facts  ;  then  the  ordering  those  facts  by 
strength  of  human  intellect,  so  as  to  make  them,  for  all 
who  look  upon  them,  to  the  utmost  serviceable,  memor- 
able, and  beautiful" — if  we  take  this  and  consider  it 
as  applicable  to  the  art  of  composition,  it  will  be  seen 
that  we  have  supplemented  it  ^\•ith  two  other  '■'  charac- 
ters "  possibly  comprehended  by  J\Ir.  Ruskin  in  the 
above  —  selection  and  expression.  After  the  "seizing 
of  natural  facts,"  which  was  the  burden  of  the  first  part 
of  our  work,  comes  the  discrimination  among  them  and 
selection,  spoken  of  there  and  repeated  with  emphasis 
here.  Then  follows  the  ordering  of  those  facts  — 
arrangement  — -  so  eloquently  insisted  upon  by  Mr.  Rus- 
kin. Lastly  comes  adequate  expression,  which  together 
with  arrangement  has  been  specially  discussed  in  the 
introduction  to  Part  II.  Such  is  the  complete  method 
of  composition  ;  follow  it  in  every  endeavor,  no  matter 
how  imperfectly,  through  tlie  several  stages,  and  the 
result  cannot  be  whollv  bad. 


EXERCISE    LXVI. 


NEWS. 


Of  the   many   departments   of    journalism,  we   shall 
consider  two  oi-  three  only,  which  especially  demand  the 


212  MISCELLANEOUS   FORMS. 

exercise  of  the  pen.  One  of  lliosc  is  the  preparation 
of  news  for  the  daily  and  weekly  press.  NeAvs-gather- 
ing  and  reporting  constitnte  a  profession  in  themselves 
and  cannot  be  treated  of  at  any  length  here.  A  h;w 
hints,  however,  cannot  come  amiss.  For  there  is  at  least 
one  kind  of  news-reporting  common  in  tliis  conntry 
which  nuist  ho  undertaken  by  non-professionals.  Tliis 
is  the  news-letter  Avhich  is  sent  at  regular  intervals  to  a 
city  or  county  pajjcr  by  correspondents  in  adjacent 
towns  or  country  districts  too  tliinly  populated  to  sup- 
pfM't  local  papers  of  their  own.  Virtually  the  same 
principles  hold  good  here  as  in  the  higher  forms  of 
joui-nalistic  work  ;  and  the  lack  of  a  knowledge  of  them 
is  painfully  evident  in  almost  all  the  country  news- 
papers in  the  land. 

In  the  first  place,  what  is  legitimate  news  ?  All  hap- 
penings, we  say,  of  general  interest  and  presumably  not 
yet  generally  known,  which  it  will  do  no  harm,  or  at 
any  rate,  more  good  than  harm,  to  communicate  to  the 
public.  It  is  at  once  manifest  that  occurrences  which 
are  of  interest  only  to  those  who  are  actual  witnesses  of 
them  or  participants  in  them,  cannot  properly  be  desig- 
nated news.  On  the  other  hand,  when  we  say  that 
they  should  be  of  general  interest,  we  do  not  mean  by 
that,  universal  interest.  Such  interest  will  attach  to 
very  few  events,  indeed.  But  the  importance  of  the 
news  will  be  measured  by  the  degree  and  extent  of  the 
interest  which  it  excites,  and  the  news-gatherer,  remem- 
bering this  fact,  and  taking  account  of  his  public,  will 
be  able  to  discriminate  accordingly.  It  should  be  con- 
sidered, too,  that  a  piece  of  news  may  bear  a  very  differ- 
ent  importance,    according    as    the    j)ublic    interest    is 


NEWS.  213 

absorbed  or  not  by  events  of  greater  moment.  Does 
any  one  want  to  know  that  a  certain  citizen  of  an 
Alpine  town  lias  suddenly  fallen  ill,  when  the  whole 
town  is  threatened  by  an  avalanche  ?  In  public  crises, 
at  times  of  local  or  national  elections,  celebrations, 
calamities,  newspapers  are  fully  warranted  in  rejecting 
items  of  news  that  at  other  times  Avould  be  freely  ad- 
mitted. 

Let  everything  of  the  nature  of  gossip  l)e  sedulously 
avoided.  Do  not  descend  to  small  talk,  idle  tales,  vague 
rumors,  innuendoes,  matters  that  appeal  to  an  unworthy 
curiosity  rather  than  to  a  healthy  interest.  Let  })urely 
23rivate  affairs  remain  private.  It  may  be  that  people 
are  no  more  prone  to-day  than  they  ever  Avere  to  pry 
into  their  neigld)ors'  secrets  —  it  is  extremely  probable 
that  they  are  eyen  less  so  —  but  the  increased  facilities 
for  the  dissemination  of  news  have  undoubtedly  con- 
tributed much  to  the  violation  of  the  sanctity  of  private 
life.  It  is  safest  and  ])est  to  become  no  party  to  such 
violation. 

Remember,  too,  the  incalculable  power  of  the  press 
for  good  as  well  as  for  evil.  Search  for  that  which  is 
beneficial  and  ennoljling  as  studiously  as  you  avoid  that 
which  is  injurious  and  degrading.  Seek  to  stimulate 
general  interest  in  measures  that  are  for  the  general 
good.  You  must  deal  with  comparatively  trivial  mat- 
ters it  may  be,  but  none  the  less  form  a  higher  concep- 
tion of  the  office  of  newsmonger  than  the  mere  name 
implies.  Parties  and  visits,  accidents,  crimes,  sickness, 
births,  marriages,  and  deaths,  need  not  form  the  staple 
of  news.  The  good  or  bad  condition  of  the  roads,  the 
cleanliness  of  back  dmnj'ards   or   the    tidiness    of   front 


214  MISCELLANEOUS   FORMS. 

ones,  the  activity  of  trade,  the  organization  of  clubs, 
the  progress  of  reforms, —  in  short,  all  matters  affecting 
the  health  or  prosperity  of  the  community  should  not 
go  unnoticed.  Tt  is  surely  as  Avell  woiih  TC[)()rting  that 
My.  Brown  has  imported  a  fine  painting  or  a  rare  book 
from  London  as  that  Mr.  Green  has  dri\c'n  all  his  hogs 
to  market.  Not  that  the  latter  may  not  be  worth  re- 
porting, only  do  not  let  it  croAvd  out  the  former. 

After  due  discrimination  is  made  in  regard  to  the 
nature  of  the  items  reported,  there  remains  the  (juestion 
of  how  much  or  how  little  is  to  be  included  in  each 
item.  Of  course  all  the  brevity  and  condensation  pos- 
sible arc  demanded  here.  But  there  must  be  complete- 
ness too.  Consider  what  questions  would  naturally 
arise  in  your  own  mind  on  first  hearing  of  the  occur- 
rence to  be  reported.  Has  there  been  a  fire  ?"  Then 
where  was  il  ?  When  was  it?  How  did  it  originate? 
How  was  it  discovered?  What  measures  Avere  taken 
to  extinguish  it?  What  were  the  nature  and  extent 
of  the  damage  ?  Will  it  be  repaired  ?  On  whom  falls 
the  loss  ?  What  is  the  amount  of  insurance  ?  Many  a 
piece  of  news  is  unsatisfactory  because  it  fails  to  answer 
these  questions.  And  many  a  piece  is  unsatisfactory 
too  because  it  makes  unexplained  allusions  or  takes  for 
granted  a  knowledge  of  certain  events  which  many 
readers  cannot  possibly  have.  The  following  item  from 
a  current  newspaper  seems  to  sin  in  this  last  regard  : 

New  York,  November  10. 

H.    Matelaud   Jersey,    the    American    representative    of    Lord 

Dunraven,  received  a  cablegram  to-day  saying  that  Dunraveii's 

challenge  for  the  America  cup  in  1893  is  coming  through  the  mails 

by  the  steamer  Germanic,  which  is  due  here  a  week  from  to-morrf)\\'. 


NEWS.  215 

Of  course  the  news  in  a  great  daily  newspaper  must  be 
in  "many  respects  like  the  consecutive  chapters  of  a 
serial  story,  and  those  who  are  not  constant  readers  can- 
not expect  to  understand  all  that  is  printed.  But  it  is 
nevertheless  the  duty  of  news-writers  to  make  every  sep- 
arate article  as  self-explanatory  and  intelligible  as  possible. 

News-letters  and  news  ''  specials  "  should  of  course 
be  purely  objective  in  character.  They  offer  no  occa- 
sion for  the  obtrusion  of  personal  opinions  ;  there  are 
other  departments  of  a  newspaper  through  Avhich  these 
may  find  expression.  Stick  to  facts  :  the  temptation  to 
depart  from  them  is  strongly  felt  and  not  always 
resisted  by  one  who  is  constantly  pandering  to  people's 
desire  for  the  novel  and  curious.  But  the  truth,  more 
often  than  is  suspected,  is  both  new  and  strange.  And 
the  truth  is  ever  best.  Even  the  whole  truth  may  not 
always  be  written  and  published  either  with  safety  to 
the  writer  or  Avitli  benefit  to  the  public.  That  you 
know  a  man  to  be  a  coward  does  not  make  it  incumbent 
upon  you  to  proclaim  him  one  from  the  housetops. 
Give  facts,  so  many  and  such  facts  as  are  Avell  to  give, 
and  give  them  without  comment.  Even  praise  for  the 
public  spirit  of  a  citizen  or  for  any  virtuous  act  is  more 
delicate  and  acceptable  if  left  to  be  gathered  from 
the  straightforward  account  of  deeds  and  not  added 
explicitly  and  bluntly  at  the  end  of  the  account.  Shun 
such  old  formulas  as,  "  Our  best  wishes  for  success  go 
with  him,"  and,  "We  take  pleasure  in  noting  his  com- 
mendable zeal." 

Lastly,  give  some  heed  to  the  composition,  the  style. 
News  is  necessarily  the  most  hastily  written  of  all 
matter  intended  for  print.     But  clearness  and  simplic- 


216  ]VUSCELLi\JS'EOUS    FORMS. 

ity  are  the  great  essentials  and  tliese  onglit  to  attend 
rapid  writing  more  naturally  than  their  opposites. 
There  is  no  time  to  think  so  long  that  both  thought 
and  expression  become  involved,  and  there  is  no  need 
to  search  for  ornament.  Vivacity  of  tone,  whenever  it 
can  be  imparted,  will  contribute  much  toward  giving 
any  article  the  character  known  as  "  newsy."  News 
writing  may  not  be  the  place  for  a  display  of  person- 
ality, but  some  degree  of  it  will  be  acceptable  even 
here.  For  example,  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  a 
long-suffering  pul)lic  to  be  able  to  read  an  account  of  a 
birth  in  which  there  is  no  mention  of  a  "smiling" 
father,  of  a  wedding  in  which  the  bride  is  not  said  to 
be  "beautiful  and  accomplished,"  of  a  death  without 
allusion  to  any  who  are  "left  to  mourn  the  loss."  A 
railroad  wreck  is  not  a  "  holocaust,"  nor  a  panic  a 
"  pandemonium."  But  it  has  long  since  been  found 
almost  useless  to  attempt  to  stem  the  tide  of  newspaper 
improprieties  and  barbarisms. 

No  examples  of  articles  of  news  need  be  given  here, 
—  they  can  be  found  in  papers  everywhere.  For 
practice  write  out  an  account,  as  if  for  publication,  of 
any  recent  occurrence  with  the  particulars  of  which 
you  are  familiar.  Or  make  up  in  the  form  of  a  news- 
letter from  "A  Correspondent "  a  budget  of  news  items 
gathered  from  your  immediate  neighborhood. 


EXERCISE    LXVII. 

EDITORIALS. 

News,   we  have   said,   should    generally  be   written 
without  comment.     The  editorial  columns  of  a  paper 


EDITORIALS.  217 

supplement  the  newrf  cohuiins  l)y  t'liriiishiiig  this  com- 
ment. No  fact,  however  isolated  in  appearance,  stands 
really  alone  in  the  economy  of  the  universe.  And  so 
every  event  bears  a  more  or  less  intimate  relation  to 
other  events,  and  has  an  influence  and  a  signiiicance 
that  are  not  always  immediately  apparent.  It  is  the 
editor's  work  to  trace  out  this  relation  and  to  detect 
and  explain  this  significance.  Sometimes  a  moral  may 
be  pointed  or  a  lesson  needs  to  be  drawn.  One  day 
comes  the  news  that  a  man  has  Ijeen  robbed  of  a  large 
amount  of  money  which  he  had  hoarded  in  his  house 
and  the  next  day  appears  the  following  brief  editorial  : 

People  who,  in  these  days  of  banks  and  safe  deposit  companies, 
keep  $85,000  in  money  in  a  bm-eau  drawer  deserve  to  be  robbed. 
The  New  Jersey  ship-owner  who  suffered  from  thieves  will  proba- 
bly never  see  his  money  again,  l»ut  it  is  to  be  honied  that  his 
misfortune  will  serve  as  a  warning  to  others  wlio  hoard  treasure. 
The  old-time  notion  that  money  is  safest  in  one's  personal  charge 
is  exploded,  and  any  one  who  secretes  coin  and  so  makes  it  useless 
for  the  purposes  of  trade  deserves  to  have  it  stolen. 

Sometimes  the  comment  takes  a  humorous  or  satirical 
turn  and  serves  scarcely  any  other  purpose  than  that  of 
lending  spice  to  the  column,  as  in  the  following: 

The  fellow  from  the  State  of  Washington  who  devised  the 
ingenious  corset  for  can-ying  sixty-eight  valuable  Swiss  watches 
ought  to  have  dressed  before  a  mirror.  Tlie  fact  that  one  con- 
cealed watch  made  a  slight  protuberance  under  his  ov(!rcoat  led  to 
his  undoing.  It  takes  a  very  clever  snniggler  to  run  the  gauntlet 
of  the  experts  in  New  York  who  have  had  their  detective  abilities 
sharpened  by  moiitlis  (jf  ijaily  oliservation. 

But  it  is  in  dealing  with  the  great  questions  of  the 
day,  social,  political,  or  religious,   numicipal,   national, 


218  MISCELLANEOUS    FOllMS. 

or  international,  that  the  editor's  ability  and  resonrces 
are  taxed  to  the  utmost,  lie  must  keep  al)reast  of  all 
the  news  in  order  that  he  may  grasp  at  onee  the  signif- 
icance of  any  ])articular  item  of  it;  he  must  watch 
every  cloud  on  the  social  or  ])olitical  horizon  and  calcu- 
late the  electric  force  wliich  charges  it ;  he  must  be 
a  student  of  medicine,  law,  theology,  history,  philoso- 
phy, literature,  for  he  is  a  teacher  of  all  of  these  in 
turn.  Versatility  of  knowledge  and  talents  is  still 
in  demand  in  the  editor's  chair,  though  the  modern 
tendency  toward  specialization  and  division  of  labor 
is  not  unfelt  even  here.  But  how  does  one  acquire 
this  versatility  ?  So  far  as  it  is  an  acquisition,  by 
cultivating  active  habits  of  both  bod}'  and  mind  ;  by 
seeking  wide  acquaintance  with  men  of  the  world, 
"men  of  affairs";  by  studying,  in  the  spirit  of  the 
historian,  the  life  of  the  times.  Of  course  even  with 
the  widest  experience  the  editor  is  not  omniscient. 
But  he  knows  how  to  avail  himself  of  resources  not 
guessed  at  by  many  who  accept  his  word  for  infallible 
doctrine.  Is  a  measure  proposed  in  Congress  which 
is  deemed  unconstitutional?  He  goes  at  once  to  the 
constitution  and  the  expositions  of  it.  Does  a  war 
l)reak  out  unexpectedly  in  one  of  the  unimportant 
South  American  republics?  He  turns  to  histories, 
atlases,  cyclopedias,  and  political  almanacs,  and  in 
several  hours  writes  a  column  explaining  the  whole 
situation.  He  studies  and  writes  for  the  thousantls  who 
have  no  time  to  study  for  themselves,  and  thus  his  position 
becomes  one  of  almost  incalculable  power  and  influence. 
The  difficulty  of  the  editor's  task  will  be  apparent  at 
once  to  the  inexperienced  student  who  tries  to  perform 


EDITORIALS.  219 

it.  But  several  hints  upon  method  liave  ah-eady  been 
given.  The  news  of  a  current  newspaper  should  be 
carefully  studied  and  some  item  selected  which  affords 
plenty  of  matter  for  comment.  If  the  news  is  inti- 
mately related  to  past  events,  the  history  and  literature 
of  the  subject  should  be  stutUed  thoroughly.  The 
Statesman's  Year-Book,  HazelFs  Annual,  Political  Alma- 
nacs, Congressional  records,  census  and  financial  reports, 
etc.,  will  often  be  found  valuable  where  ordinary  books 
of  reference  fail  because  not  late  enough  in  date. 
A  complete  file  of  a  good  newspaper  is  likewise  almost 
indispensable.  Then,  when  the  material  is  gathered, 
let  the  comment  which  is  intended  to  take  the  form  of 
an  editorial  be  condensed,  vigorous,  and  pointed. 

Following  are  a  few  titles  of  editorials  appearing  at 
the  time  of  this  writing  :  Undeveloped  Wealth,  The 
Farmer  and  the  Consumer,  Taxing  Luxuries,  English 
Agriculture,  Making  Plush  in  America,  New  York  in 
Gala  Dress,  Cleveland's  Prospects,  Crespo  in  Caracas, 
An  Educational  Campaign,  Edwin  Booth,  Keeping  the 
Streets  Clean,  The  Progress  of  Aluminum.  Consult 
any  of  the  great  newspapers  that  are  published  in  our 
larger  cities  for  examples  of  editorials  of  this  class. 
Subjoined  is  one  from  the  New  York  Evening  Post, 
which  may  be  entitled 

INTELLIGENCE   OF   OUR   IMMIGRANTS. 

Free  evening  scliools  were  established  in  New  Haven  about 
tliii-ty  years  ago,  and  have  been  maintained  ever  since,  but  for 
several  winters  jiast  the  attendance  upon  those  conducted  for 
English-speaking  imjiils  has  been  steadily  diminishing.  It  might 
be  supposed  that  this  indicated  less  desire  to  overcome  the  defects 
of  early  education  among  the  immigrants,  who  have  always  com- 


220  MISCELLANEOUS    FORMS. 

prised  the  lar<^er  part  of  the  pupils,  than  was  the  case  in  the 
;sixties;  but  the  Palladium,  which  appears  to  have  investigated  the 
nuitter,  says  that  the  truth  is  tliat  tliere  is  nuich  less  occasion  for 
such  schools  now  tlian  tlicic  was  a  score  of  years  ago.  It  says 
tliat  young  Irisli  innnigrants  now  arc  usually  able  to  read  witli 
ease  and  to  write  i'airlv  well,  and  have  a  fair  knowledge  of  the 
rudiments  of  arithmetic,  and  it  seems  doubtful  whether  it  will 
long  be  necessary  to  maintain  free  evening  schools  for  English- 
speaking  pupils.  Tliere  has  been  a  good  attendance  the  past 
winter  at  the  evening  schools  maintained  lor  Italians,  Scandina- 
vians, and  Russian  Jews,  biit  the  principal  object  of  the  pupils 
has  been  to  learn  the  English  language.  Our  Swedish  and 
Norwegian  immigrants  are  usually  well  educated  when  they 
arrive  here,  and  the  Palladium  says  that,  so  far  as  New  Haven's 
experience  goes,  "  the  Italians  are  fau-ly  well  educated,  and  the 
Russians  and  Poles,  while  giving  evidence  of  having  had  few  or 
almost  no  advantages  in  this  direction,  show  a  brightness  and 
industry  which  make  their  progress  rapid."  This  is  a  very 
encouraging  report,  and  deserves  attention  at  a  time  when  there 
is  so  much  anxiety  about  the  ignorance  of  our  immigrants. 


EXERCISE    LXVIII. 

BOOK   REVIEWS. 

Criticism  in  general,  as  one  form  of  exposition,  is 
discussed  in  Exercise  XLV.  Book  reviewing  is  only  a 
department  of  criticism,  and  in  scope  a  rather  narrow 
one  too,  but  an  age  of  many  books  has  made  it  so  com- 
mon that  it  seems  worth  while  to  give  it  sjDCcial  notice. 

The  object  of  a  book  review  is  found  in  the  desire  of 
readers  who  cannot  haunt  the  book  stalls  to  know  not 
only  what  new  books  are  published  but  also  Avhat  are 
their  character  and  comparative  worth.  And  whatever 
may  be  the  value  of  the  judgment  thus,  often  hastily. 


BOOK   REVIEWS.  221 

made,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  has  much 
influence  in  determining  the  immediate,  though  not  the 
final,  demand  for  the  book.  The  reviewer's  position  is 
therefore  one  of  some  responsibility,  too  seldom  felt 
and  too  often  lightly  assumed. 

One  way  of  reviewing  a  book  is  merely  to  give  an 
abstract  of  its  contents  —  of  an  elaborate  scientific 
treatise,  for  example,  to  give  the  divisions  and  general- 
izations, of  an  argumentative  work  the  positions  at- 
tacked and  those  defended,  of  a  novel  an  outline  of  the 
plot.  This  method  has  much  to  recommend  it.  It 
gives  the  reader  a  better  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  book 
than  the  mere  title  can  afford,  while  it  does  not  thrust 
upon  liim  personal  opinions  nor  mislead  him  by  what 
may  possibly  be  an  entirely  wrong  estimate:  it  is  not 
likely  either  to  prejudice  the  puljlic  or  to  injure  the 
author. 

But  perhaps  the  public  wants  to  know  more.  How 
does  the  book  compare  with  other  works  by  the  same 
author?  How  does  it  compare  with  books  by  other 
authors  in  the  same  field?  Does  it  contribute  anything 
new  or  valuable  to  learning  or  literature  ?  Does  it  show 
that  the  author  was  competent  to  undertake  his  task? 
Is  it  well  written?  In  short,  what  are  its  merits  and 
defects?  To  answer  these  questions  requires  considerable 
critical  acumen  coupled  with  a  wide  knowledge  of  men, 
books,  and  subjects.  As  the  questions  indicate,  the 
method  to  be  followed  is  largely  that  of  comparison. 
We  cannot  properly  estimate  Carlyle's  work  apart  from 
Richter's,  nor  Emerson's  apart  from  Carlyle's.  A  new 
text-book  on  chemistry  must  be  judged  according  as  it 
represents  the  latest  stages  in  the  development  of  the 


222  MISCELLANEOUS   FORMS. 

science,  and  is  wvW  adapted  or  not  to  the  present 
methods  of  teaching  it.  Few  reviewers  however  are 
able  to  deal  in  this  way  with  all  the  hooks  that  come 
into  their  hands.  The  result  is  that  the  critical  method 
of  book  reviewing  is  often  looked  upon  with  disfavor. 
Certain  magazines  have  tried  to  find  a  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  by  having  every  important  book  reviewed  by 
a  specialist  in  the  department  to  which  it  belongs. 
The  chief  objection  to  this  is  that  those  most  comj^etent 
to  judge  of  the  subject-matter  of  a  book  do  not  always 
possess  other  important  qualifications  of  a  literary  critic. 

There  is  another  question  that  a  book  review  may 
very  properly  answer:  What  have  the  publishers  done 
for  the  book?  Where  and  by  whom  is  it  published? 
What  are  its  size,  style,  and  price  ?  Is  it  well  printed, 
tastefully  bound?  These  indeed  become  the  important 
questions  in  all  cases  of  reprints,  art  books,  souv6nir 
books,  editions  de  luxe,  etc.  Some  familiarity  with  the 
printer's,  engraver's,  and  bookbinder's  arts  is  necessary 
in  order  to  answer  these  questions  well.  And  a  little 
study  of  these  arts,  even  from  an  outside  point  of 
view,  will  ami)ly  repay  any  student  in  the  increased 
pleasure  he  will  find  in  well  selected  type,  restful  pro- 
portions, clean  press  work,  and  appropriate  bindings. 

Let  us  take  now,  almost  at  random,  a  few  examples 
of  reviews.  Here  is  a  very  brief  notice  of  the  latest 
number  of  a  j)eriodical : 

Short  Stories  appears  as  a  special  Christmas  number,  ■with  manjT 
pretty  half-tone  cuts  and  clever  outline  drawings  by  well-known 
artists.  The  tales  are  of  exceptional  interest,  and  among  the 
authors  are  Frank  Stockton,  John  Strange  Winter,  Alphonse 
Daudet,  Henry  Harland,  and  F.  Anstey. 


BOOK    REVIEWS.  223 

A  compilation,  issued  apparently  in  the  interesrts 
both  of  religion  and  of  art,  is  described  thus  : 

A  dainty  little  book  is  "  Selections  from  Isaac  Pennington." 
The  selections  are  extracts  from  letters  of  Pennington,  who  was 
a  leader  among  the  English  Quakers.  He  was  imprisoned  five 
times  because  of  his  faith,  but  he  bore  all  his  sufferings  with  rare 
fortitude.  Ilis  eldest  daughter  married  William  Penn,  and  the 
compiler  of  this  book  has  added  Penn's  tribute  to  his  friend. 
The  little  volume  is  full  of  wise  counsel  and  true  religion.  It  is 
bound  in  vellum  cloth  with  gilt  edges  and  is  put  up  in  a  box. 
[Boston  :  Roberts  Brothers.     Price,  75  cents.] 

A  new  edition  of  an  old  book  requires  different 
treatment : 

Few  books  lend  themselves  more  gracefully  to  illustration  than 
Longfellow's  "  Hyperion,"  which  is  brought  out  in  fine  dress  with 
a  large  numlier  of  half-tone  reproductions  of  photographs  of  the 
scenery  of  the  Rhine  and  of  Switzerland.  This  early  prose 
romance,  in  wliich  the  poet  embalmed  his  own  love,  has  always 
been  a  favorite,  for  it  breaths  pure  sentiment  and  it  embodies  the 
reverence  of  a  student  of  German  literature  for  the  masters  that 
he  loved.  The  illustrations  have  been  well  selected,  and  many  of 
them  are  from  photographs  which  are  not  co)iimon.  One  of  the 
most  effective  is  the  picture  of  the  old  watch  tower  at  Andernach. 
The  l»ook  is  Ijound  in  novel  fashion  and  is  put  up  in  a  pretty  box. 
[Philadelphia  :  Porter  &  Coates.     Price,  |;3..50.] 

As  an  example  of  the  more  serious  work  that  may  l)e 
done  in  this  line  by  those  who  are  at  once  scholars  and 
critics,  take  the  following  by  Mr.  Brander  Matthews  in 
the  September,  1892,  numlier  of  The  Cosmopolitan : 

I\Ir.  Bierce  in  Tales  of  Soldiers  and  Civilians  has  chosen 
to  abjure  love  altogether  and  to  deal  wholly  witli  the  other 
emotions  —  chiefly,  indeed,  with  one  of  tliem,  with  the  emotion 
of  fear.  Almost  every  one  of  the  scant  score  of  these  tales  is  a 
study  in  the  psychology  of  terror  —  the  terror  of  men  for  the 


224  MISCELLANEOUS    FORMS. 

most  part  brave,  luit  lici-c  taken  at  a  disadvantaqo  and  ro(lnr(»d  to 
abject,  craven,  crawling,  animal  fear.  The  book  abounds  in 
ghostly  and  ghoulish  adventures  ;  it  has  a  graveyard  flavor  to 
delight  a  resurrection  man  ;  and  at  last  the  reader  revolts  against 
the  unredeemed  monotony  of  insistent  horror.  There  is  only  a 
tint  of  humor  now  and  then,  grim  always  and  growsomo.  But 
the  power  of  these  tales  is  indisputable  ;  their  brute-force  is 
beyond  question.  Mr.  Bierce  has  an  astonishing  faculty  for  the 
selection  of  the  dr<amatic  situation,  plucked  at  the  very  climax 
and  catastrophe  of  the  drama  and  presented  briefly  and  boldly  and 
left  to  speak  for  itself.  The  strange  sketch  called  Chickamauga, 
with  its  vision  of  a  regimcMit  of  wounded  men  crawling  silently 
through  the  dark  woods,  before  the  eyes  of  a  little  child,  brings 
home  the  horror  of  war,  the  bloody  ghastliness  of  it,  as  nothing- 
else  in  literature  except  Tolstoi's  Sebastopol,  as  nothing  in  art 
except  Verestchagin's  pictures.  This,  indeed,  is  what  Mr.  Bierce 
is,  a  literary  Verestchagin,  quite  willing  to  declare  the  secrets  of 
the  charnel  house.  One  of  the  ^lissing  is  a  masterpiece  of  grow- 
ing horror  in  the  face  of  impending  and  inevitable  death.  Here 
the  author  is  not  carried  beyond  the  bounds  of  art,  as  he  is  when 
he  sets  before  us  The  Coup  de  Grace,  unsavory  and  unpardonable. 
It  is  to  be  said  also  that  Mr.  Bierce  abuses  the  trick  of  surprise ; 
as  Mr.  Aldrich  showed  us  in  IMarjory  Daw,  it  is  a  legitimate 
device,  but  it  is  easily  worn  out.  The  sheer  strength  of  these 
tales,  rank  as  it  is  and  unpleasant,  is  so  marked  that  I  wish  Mr. 
Bierce  would  enlarge  his  formulas  and  figure  for  us  some  of  the 
facts  of  life  other  than  fear. 


EXERCISE    LXIX. 

LETTERS. 

If  it  be  assumed  that  the  student  is  familiar  with  the 
conventional  forms  used  in  letter  writing,  there  remains 
only  to  indicate  and  illustrate  some  of  the  qualities 
which  it  is  desirable  that  letters  should  possess.     Our 


LETTERS.  225 

first  attempts  at  composition  liave  prolxil)ly  been  in  the 
form  of  letters,  so  that  tlie  elements  of  this  art  have 
been  acqnired  througli  actual  practice.  But  since  it  is 
an  art,  something  can  still  be  learned  from  study  and 
from  practice  based  upon  that  study. 

There  is  scarcely  an  occupation  or  condition  of  life 
that  does  not  call  this  art  into  play.  And  so  we  have 
letters  of  eveiy  variety,  from  hriei  notes  of  invitation 
to  long  state  documents,  from  letters  of  l)usiness  to 
letters  of  friendship  and  love.  One  who  has  learned 
how  to  express  himself  clearly,  correctly,  and  concisely, 
and  has  learned,  furthermore,  that  written  communica- 
tions do  not  differ  materially  from  oral  ones,  may  be 
trusted  to  write  business  letters  and  all  ordinary  letters 
of  courtesy  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  But  whatever 
the  form  or  contents  of  the  epistle,  one  thing  must  be 
borne  in  mind,  and  that  is  that  a  letter  is  of  all  kinds 
of  composition  tlie  most  personal,  and  therefore  subject 
to  all  the  restrictions  as  well  as  open  to  all  the  liberties 
of  our  daily  intercourse  with  one  anotlier.  This  means, 
for  one  thing,  tliat  it  must  be  marked  throughout  by 
courtesy  and  kindly  consideration  for  every  just  claim 
of  the  person  addressed.  Violation  of  these  principles 
in  conversation  may  find  some  little  excuse  in  pleas  of 
impulse,  thoughtlessness,  or  provocation,  but  such  j)leas 
can  hardly  l^e  advanced  in  extenuation  of  that  which  is 
written.  Besides,  if  it  is  true  that  a  word  once  spoken 
can  never  ])e  recalled,  a  written  word  is  attended  with 
the  additional  danger  that  it  may  survive  the  forgetful- 
ness  of  all  who  first  beheld  it. 

Out  of  tliis  same  fact,  that  a  letter  is  pecvdiarly  per- 
sonal in  character,  grows  this   iujuuction  :     Let  it  be 


226  MISCELLANEOUS    FORMS. 

al)ovc  all  lliini,rs  natural.  Naturalness,  qualified  only 
by  a  properly  discreet  reserve,  constitutes  the  chief 
charm  of  an  epistolary  style.  You  write  only  because 
under  the  circumstances  you  cannot  talk.  If  you  are 
writing  to  a  friend  and  your  object  is  not  j)urely  a  busi- 
ness one,  then  you  want  to  convey  to  that  friend  some- 
thing of  yourself,  you  want  to  enable  him  to  enjoy  for 
a  few  moments  your  society.  You  can  only  do  this  by 
being  in  every  word  and  in  every  thought  your  true 
self.  There  must  be  no  posing  and  no  insincerity. 
That  self-consciousness  which  stands  in  the  way  of  true 
self-expression  is  less  pardonable  here,  perhaps,  than  in 
any  other  form  of  writing. 

The  intrinsic  value  and  interest  of  the  written  letter 
will  naturally  depend  on  the  personality  that  shines 
through  it.  Those  delightfid  people  whom  everybody 
calls  "  interesting  "  are  pretty  sure  to  write  interesting 
letters,  and  there  can  liardly  fail  to  be  some  reflection 
of  a  great  mind  in  the  letters  of  a  great  man.  Thus 
letters  that  were  never  intended  to  be  anything  more 
than  mere  epistles  may  rise  to  the  rank  of  literature. 
For  frank  and  spontaneous  expression  of  feeling  take 
the  following  letter  of  Edward  FitzGerald's  to  his 
friend  John  Allen.  The  punctuation,  it  ought  to  be 
said,  is  FitzGerald's  own  : 

-^  .  Geldestonk   Hall,  Sept.  9,  [1884]. 

Dear  Allkx,  '      ^        '  i-         -" 

I  have  really  iiotliing  to  say,  and  T  am  ashamed 
to  be  sending-  this  third  letter  all  the  way  from  here  to  Pembroke- 
shire for  no  earthly  purpose  :  but  I  have  just  received  yours  :  and 
you  will  know  how  very  welcome  all  your  letters  ai-e  to  me  when 
you  see  how  the  perusal  of  this  one  has  excited  me  to  such  an  in- 
stant reply.     It  has  indeed  been  a  long  time  coming  :  but  it  is  all 


LETTERS.  227 

the  more  delicious.  Perhaps  you  can't  imagine  how  wistfully  I 
have  looked  tor  it  :  how,  after  a  walk,  my  eyes  have  turned  to  the 
table,  on  coming  into  the  room,  to  see  it.  Sometimes  I  have  been 
tempted  to  be  angry  with  you  :  but  then  I  thought  that  I  was 
sure  you  would  come  a  hundred  miles  to  serve  me,  though  you 
were  too  lazy  to  sit  down  to  a  letter.  I  suppose  that  people  who 
are  engaged  in  serious  ways  of  life,  and  are  of  well-filled  minds, 
don't  think  mucli  al)out  the  interchange  of  letters  with  any 
anxiety  :  but  I  am  an  idle  fellow,  of  a  very  ladylike  turn  of  sen- 
timent :  and  my  friendships  are  more  like  loves,  I  think.  Your 
letter  found  me  reading  the  "  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  "  too  :  I 
had  been  laughing  aloud  to  myself  :  think  of  what  another  coat 
of  happiness  came  over  my  former  good  mood.  You  are  a  dear 
good  fellow,  and  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  The 
truth  is  I  was  anxious  about  this  letter,  as  1  really  didn't  know 
whether  you  were  married  or  not  —  or  ill  —  I  fancied  you  might 
be  anything,  or  any^vhere.  .  .  . 

As  to  reading  I  have  not  done  mucli.  1  am  going  througli  the 
Spectator  :  wliicli  people  nowadays  think  a  poor  l)ook  :  liut  I 
honor  it  much.  What  a  noltle  kind  of  Journal  it  was  !  There  is 
certainly  a  good  deal  of  what  may  be  called  '  pill,'  but  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  wisdom,  I  Iwlieve,  oidy  it  is  couched  so  simply  that 
people  can't  believe  it  to  be  real  absolute  wisdom.  The  little 
l)ook  you  speak  of  I  will  order  and  l)uy.  I  heard  from  Thackeray, 
who  is  just  up()n  the  point  of  going  to  France  ;  indeed  he  may  be 
there  by  this  time.     I  shall  miss  him  much.  .  .  . 

Farewell  my  dearest  fellow  :  you  have  made  me  very  happy  to 
hear  from  you  :  and  to  know  that  all  is  so  well  with  you.  Believe 
me  to  be  your  ever  affectionate  friend,  E.  FitzGerald. 

It  would  l)e  vain  to  contend  that  the  above  letter  is 
interesting  only  because  it  was  written  by  a  man  who 
made  some  valuable  contributions  to  the  sum  of  English 
literature.  Surely  the  letter,  giving  us  a  glimpse  of 
the  true  self  of  a  fellow-being  and  bringing  us  for 
a  moment  into  his  immediate  presence,  is  interesting  in 
itself,  and  would  be  scarcely  less  so  if  we  did  not  know 


228  MISCELLANEOUS    FOUMS. 

that  it  came  from  the  suiiie   luuid  which  lias  oiveii  us, 
in  its  Enghsli  foim.  the  priceless  Ruhdiydt. 

Let  lis  h^ok  ;it  one  example  too  from  Horace  Wulpc^le, 
remembering  that  he  had  studied  letter-writing  as  an 
art  and  wrote  hoping  for  the  ap])rt!ciation  of  future 
generations.  That  there  should  he  some  "posing"  in 
his  case  seems  inevitable.  The  letter  announces  to 
a  friend  Walpole's  return  from  France. 

Sti{Awiu;kijv  ITii.i,,  Oct.  Ki,  170!). 

I  arrived  at  my  own  Louvre  last  Wednesday  night,  and  am 
now  at  my  A'ersailles.  Your  last  letter  reached  me  but  two  days 
before  I  left  Paris,  for  I  have  been  an  age  at  Calais  and  upon  the 
sea.  I  could  execute  no  commission  for  you,  and,  in  truth,  you 
gave  me  no  explicit  one;  l)ut  I  have  brought  you  a  bit  of  china, 
and  beg  you  will  be  content  with  a  little  present,  instead  of 
a  bargain.  Said  china  is,  or  will  be  soon,  in  the  Custom-IIouse; 
but  I  shall  have  it,  I  fear,  long  before  you  come  to  London.  .   .  . 

I  feel  myself  here  like  a  swan,  that,  after  living  six  weeks  in 
a  nasty  jiool  upon  a  common,  is  got  back  into  its  own  Thames. 
I  do  nothing  but  phime  and  clean  myself,  and  enjoy  the  verdure 
and  silent  waves.  Neatness  and  greenth  are  so  essential  in  my 
opinion  to  the  country,  that  in  France,  where  I  see  nothing  but 
chalk  and  dirty  peasants,  I  seem  in  a  terrestrial  purgatory  that 
is  neither  town  nor  country.  The  face  of  England  is  so  beautiful, 
that  I  do  not  believe  Tempe  or  Arcadia  were  half  so  rural  ;  for 
both  lying  in  hot  climates,  must  have  wanted  the  turf  of  our 
lawns.  It  is  unfortunate  to  have  so  pastoral  a  taste,  when  I  want 
a  cane  more  than  a  crook.  We  are  absurd  creatures;  at  twenty, 
I  loved  nothing  but  London. 

Consult  Knight's  Half-Hours  ivith  the  Best  Letter- 
Writers.  Read,  for  all  varieties  of  epistolary  style, 
the  published  letters  of  Cowper,  Gray,  Pope,  Lamb, 
Thackeray,  Madame  de  S^'vign^,  Goethe,  Thomas 
Jefferson,  Washington  Irving,  Caiiyle,  and  Emerson. 


DIARIES.  229 

EXERCISE    LXX. 

DIARIES. 

Akin  to  letter  writing  in  some  respects  is  dairy 
writing.  It  consists  in  recording  the  events  that  come 
within  one  person's  daily  experience,  physical,  intel- 
lectual, or  spiritual,  with  or  without  comment.  The 
result  will  be,  even  more  marketUy  than  in  the  case  of 
letter  writing,  a  reflection  of  the  mind  and  life  of  the 
writer.  If  a  letter  exhibits  that  portion  of  one's  inner 
nature  which  he  is  willing  to  disclose  to  others,  a  diary 
or  journal  presumably  goes  further  and  betrays  phases 
of  one's  individuality  that  find  expression  only  in 
moments  of  self-communion.  For  the  truest  diary  is 
that  which  is  intended  for  no  eyes  save  those  of  the 
writer,  though  such  is  not  likely  to  be  couched  in  the 
best  literary  foiin. 

It  may  be  said  indeed  that,  as  in  letters,  coherence, 
symmetry,  pur|)ose,  polish,  the  qualities  by  which  we 
test  composition  in  general,  will  not  be  demanded  in 
the  same  degree  here.  And  greater  liberty  may  per- 
haps be  allowed  in  the  minor  details  of  punctuation, 
sentence  structure,  etc.  Still  it  would  seem  that  if 
a  journal  is  worth  keeping  at  all,  little  would  be  lost 
and  a  great  deal  would  be  gained  by  giving  due  consid- 
eration even  to  these  minor  details.  It  can  hardly  be 
argued  that  this  will  interfere  with  naturalness  or 
sincerity.  There  is  no  reason  why  one's  real  nature 
may  not  find  just  expression  in  correct  as  well  as  in 
incorrect  form.  And  certainly  it  is  no  check  upon 
spontaneity  to  cultivate   the  habit  of  putting  a  period 


230  MISCELLANEOUS    FOllMS. 

at  the  end  of  a  sentence.  Diary  writing  thus  i)ractise(l 
may  serve  the  very  useful  end  of  affording  good 
training  in  composition. 

As  in  letter  writing  again,  we  shall  expect  here  no 
attitudinizing  or  posing  for  effect.  This  may  not  be 
avoidable  in  the  case  of  journals  written  with  the  pos- 
sibility of  publication  in  mind,  as  the  Journal  of  the 
late  Marie  Bashkirtscff.  And  some  have  maintained 
indeed  that  no  one  who  deliberately  sits  down  to  record 
his  thoughts  aiid  feelings  can  entirely  avoid  posing 
even  before  himself.  But  this  looks  suspiciously  like  a 
contradiction  of  terms.  However  that  be,  it  is  well  to 
remember  that  a  journal  loses  its  value  in  direct  pro- 
portion as  it  is  insincere. 

The  character  of  a  diary  will  depend  upon  the 
purpose  for  which  it  is  kept  as  well  as  upon  the  indi- 
viduality of  the  keeper.  It  may  have  no  other  object 
than  to  preserve  a  consecutive  and  dated  record  of 
events  and  experiences.  Or  it  may  be  treated  as  a 
companion  and  a  confidant  fitted  to  occupy  the  leisure  of 
the  dreamer  or  solace  the  hours  of  the  solitary  thinker. 
The  first  may  become  valuable  in  the  future  to  the  bio- 
grapher or  historian,  and  the  second  to  the  student  of  psy- 
chology or  the  lover  of  literature.  Let  us  take  as  an  ex- 
ample of  the  first  an  entry  from  the  celebrated  Diary  of 
Samuel  Pepys,  English  Secretary  to  the  Admiralty. 

Apr.  8th,  1661.  —  Up  early,  my  Lady  Batten  knocking  at  her 
door  that  conies  into  one  of  my  chambers.  I  did  give  directions 
to  my  people  and  workmen,  and  so  about  8  o'clock  we  took  barge 
at  the  Tower,  Sir  William  Batten  and  his  lady,  Mrs.  Turner,  Mr. 
Fowler  and  I.  A  very  pleasant  passage  and  so  to  Gravesend, 
where  we  dined,  and  from  thence  a  coach  took  them  and  me,  and 
Mr.  Fowler  with  some  others  came  from  Rochester  to  meet  us,  on 


DIARIES  231 

horseback.  At  Rochester,  wliere  ulight  at  ]\Ir.  Alcock's  and  there 
drank  and  had  good  sport,  with  his  bringing  out  so  many  sorts  of 
cheese.  Then  to  the  Hill-honse  at  Chatham,  where  I  never  was 
before,  and  I  found  a  pretty  pleasant  house  and  am  pleased  with 
the  armes  that  hang  up  there,  llere  we  supped  very  merry,  and 
late  to  bed  ;  Sir  AV'illiam  telling  me  that  old  Edgeborrow,  his 
predecessor,  did  die  and  walk  in  my  chamber,  did  make  me  some- 
what afeard,  but  not  so  much  as  for  mirth's  sake  I  did  seem.  80 
to  bed  in  the  treasurer's  chamber. 

Pepys's  Biary^  it  will  be  seen,  is  tilled  with  the 
minutest  details,  faithful,  gossipy,  untiring.  There  is 
little  depth  of  thought  or  l)rilliancy  of  style.  The 
composition  is  often  slovenly,  gauged  even  by  the 
standards  of  the  time,  —  a  fault  however  that  may  find 
some  extenuation  when  we  consider  \\hat  an  inunense 
amount  of  time  and  labor  this  record  demanded  daily 
of  one  whose  official  position  was  itself  no  sinecure. 
But  though  the  interest  sometimes  flags,  the  value  of 
the  work  is  inestimable.  We  can  read  it  and  almost 
live  for  ourselves  the  life  of  an  English  official  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

In  strong  contrast  to  this  diary  of  a  busy  man  of  the 
world  in  the  Journal  Intime  of  Henri-Frederic  Amiel, 
the  Genevese  professor,  philosopher,  poet,  and  dreamer. 
Read  a  characteristic  passage  : 

Sd  April,  I864.  — To-day  April  has  been  displaying  her  showery 
caprices.  We  have  had  floods  of  sunshine  followed  by  deluges  of 
rain,  alternate  tears  and  smiles  from  the  petulant  sky,  gusts  of 
wind  and  storms.  The  weather  is  like  a  spoilt  child  whose  wishes 
and  expression  change  twenty  times  in  an  hour.  It  is  a  blessing 
for  the  plants,  and  means  an  influx  of  life  thi'ough  all  the  veins  of 
the  spring.  The  circle  of  mountains  which  bounds  tlic  valley  is 
covered  with  white  from  top  to  toe,  but  two  hours  of  sunshine 
would  melt  the  Snow  away.     The  snow  itself  is  but  a  new  caprice, 


•2:52  MISCELLANEOUS    EolLMS. 

a  simple  stage  decoration  reaily  to  disMpiicar  at    tlif  si<;iial   of  ilie 
scene-shifter. 

How  sensible  I  am  to  the  restless  chant;e  ^\  liieh  rules  the  world. 
To  appear,  and  to  vanish,  —  there  is  the  biography  of  all  indi- 
\i(hials,  wliatever  may  be  the  length  of  the  cycle  of  existence 
whirli  they  describe,  and  tlie  drama  of  the  universe  is  nothing 
more.  All  life  is  tlic  sliadow  of  a  smoke-wreath,  a  gestun;  in  the 
empty  air,  a  hiert)glyph  traced  for  an  instant  in  the  sand,  and 
effaced  a  moment  afterwards  by  a  breath  of  wind,  an  air-bubble 
expanding  and  vanishing  on  the  surface  of  the  great  river  of 
being  —  an  appearance,  a  vanity,  a  nothing.  But  this  nothing  is, 
however,  the  symbol  of  the  universal  being,  and  this  passing 
bultble  is  tlie  epitome  of  the  history  of  the  world. 

The  nuvn  who  has,  however  imperceptibly,  helped  in  the  work 
of  the  universe,  has  lived  ;  the  nuin  who  has  been  conscious,  in 
however  small  a  degree,  of  the  cosmical  movement,  has  lived  also. 
Tlie  plain  man  serves  the  world  by  his  action  and  as  a  wheel  in 
the  machine  ;  the  thinker  serves  it  by  his  intellect,  and  as  a  light 
upon  its  path.  The  man  of  meditative  soul,  who  raises  and  com- 
forts and  sustains  his  travelling  companions,  mortal  and  fugitive 
like  himself,  plays  a  nobler  part  still,  for  he  unites  the  other  two 
utilities.  Action,  thought,  speech,  are  the  three  modes  of  human 
life.  The  artisan,  the  savant,  and  the  orator,  are  all  three  God's 
workmen.  —  (Mrs.  Humphrey  Ward's  Translation.) 

Pul)lishecl  Confessiom,  such  as  tliose  of  Rousseau  and 
De  Quincey,  are  similar  to  journals  in  some  respects. 
And  Wilkie  Collins  has  more  than  once  turned  the 
diary  form  to  account  in  the  field  of  fiction  hy  using 
it  to  work  out  the  characters  and  plots  of  his  novels. 


EXERCISE  LXXL 
dialogup:s. 

To  invent  a  conversation  is  not  easy,  even  for  a  good 
converser.     To  report  one  that  has  actually  taken  place 


DIALOGUES.  233 

may  not  be  difficult  l)ut  can  scarcely  serve  any  worthy 
literary  purpose.  If  an  ordinary  conversation  were 
registered  in  a  phonograph  and  repeated  to  us  liy  this 
means,  we  should  find  it,  divested  of  the  charm  lent  to 
it  by  the  presence  of  the  speakers,  decidedly  barren  and 
uninteresting.  How  much  more  barren  and  uninterest- 
ing then  must  it  be  if  still  further  divested  of  the  very 
inflections  and  intonations  of  tlie  voice.  This  inevitable 
loss,  in  written  dialogue,  nuist  be  compensated  for  it 
possible.  To  this  end  the  i)rinciples  of  selection  must 
be  studiously  observed.  The  tentative  beginnings  of  a 
conversation,  the  unfortunate  slips  of  the  tongue,  the 
jarring  discords,  the  painful  pauses,  the  dreary  stretches 
of  unprofital_)le  small  talk,  must  all  be  banished  to  give 
place  to  the  flashes  of  wit  and  flow  of  wisdom.  Con- 
versation thus  constructed  mav  become  entertaining- 
even  on  the  printed  page. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  reader  is  to  supply-  in  imagi- 
nation the  vocal  and  facial  accompaniments.  But  if  he 
is  to  do  this  spontaneously,  without  study  or  conscious 
effort,  then  the  words  and  phrases  must  carry  with  them 
the  certain  signs  of  these  accompaniments.  That  is  to 
say,  they  must  be  spontaneous  tliemselves  and  indicative 
of  feelings  as  well  as  of  thoughts.  And  this  indeed  is 
the  principal  secret  of  successful  dialogue  writing. 

There  is  another  feature  to  be  preserved.  A  great 
source  of  interest  in  the  interchange  of  talk  is  the  con- 
stant uncertainty  of  the  nature  of  the  rejoinders,  and 
the  resulting  surprises.  The  difficulty  of  preserving 
this  will  be  apparent  wlien  one  reflects  that  in  the 
invented  conversation  tlie  same  person  must  supply  all 
the  speeches  and  rejoinders.     lie  cannot  bring  to  the 


234  -MISCKLLANKolS    FOKMS. 

product  all  the  versatility  ul  talents,  the  breadth  and 
diversity  of  experience,  and  consequent  varying  points 
of  view  that  a  mixed  compan}-  of  people  bring.  The 
best  that  lie  can  do  is  to  (;onceive  each  speaker  as  dis- 
tinctly and  vividly  as  possible  and  to  make  him  speak 
always  '"in  character."  This  is  the  essential  thing  in 
dramatic  dialogue  and  may  l^est  he  studied  in  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare.  Browning  has  been  criticised  for 
making  his  cliild  characters  speak  like  grown  people, 
like  Browning  himself. 

Another  kind   of  dialogue  known  to  literature  and 
almost  as  old  as  the  dramatic  is  the  philosophical,  repre- 
sented by  the  dialectics  of  Plato.     It  may  be  studied 
in   Professor   Jowett's   excellent  translation    of  Plato. 
Walter  Savage  Landor's  delightful  Imag'mary  Conver- 
sations may  be  mentioned  here  as  another  variety  of  suc- 
cessful literature  that  is  purely  dialogistic  in  character. 
When  dialogue  is  mingled  with  ordinary  description 
and  narration  the  problem  is  somewhat  different.     Some 
difficulties  are  removed.     The  characters  of  the  different 
speakers  may  be  described,  as  may  also  their  actions 
and  situations.     On  the  other  hand  the  personality  of 
the  author  is  thrust  between  us  and  the  characters  and 
and  thei-e  is  danger  that  it  may  become  so  plainly  visible 
as   to   obliterate   the   outlines   of  the  characters  them- 
selves.    A  technical  difficulty  is  found  too  in  the  man- 
agement of  the   parenthetical  but  necessary  and  fre- 
quently recurring  "said  he"  or  its  equivalent.     The 
various  devices  for  overcoming  this  dithculty  may  be 
studied  with  profit.     Let  it  be   remembered  however 
that  the   variations   on   this   fornuda  are    not   equally 
appropriate  in  all  places  :  something  besides  the  neces- 


DIALOGUES  235 

sit}-  for  variety  must  enter  into  the  consideration.  The 
best  empk)yment  of  tlieni  ^\ill  l)e  that  which  leaves  the 
reader  entirely  unconscious  that  such  words  have  been 
used  at  all.  Study  and  criticise  a  page  of  conversation 
in  any  novel  that  comes  to  hand.  As  in  dramas  the 
conversation  is  the  wliole  work,  so  in  novels  it  is  merely 
the  accident,  one  of  the  means,  thouo-li  rarely  a  sub- 
ordinate one,  for  developing  the  plot  and  characters. 
Between  the  two  lie  such  works  as  Dr.  Holmes's  Auto- 
crat of  the  Breakfast  Table,  in  wdiich  the  conversation  of 
the  characters  is  tke  principal  thing,  though  relieved  by 
remarks  and  confidences  of  tlie  author  Avhich  really  con- 
stitute only  a  more  delightful  conversation  between  him 
and  us. 

jVluch  miglit  be  said  here  of  a  practice  that  lias  grown 
up  of  late  among  story  writers  and  even  poets,  but  as  it 
has  already  been  carried  to  extremes  pei'haps  it  is  l)est 
mentioned  only  to  convey  this  warning.  Tlie  practice 
referred  to  is  tlie  use  of  dialect.  When  used  accurately 
it  lias  a  scientific  and  liistoric  value,  no  doubt,  but  a 
good  ear  and  long  familiarity  with  the  spoken  dialect 
are  necessary  to  insure  this  accuracy.  On  the  other 
liand,  when  it  is  used  as  a  literary  vehicle,  it  may  he 
questioned  whether  more  is  not  lost  by  tlie  impediments 
it  throws  l)efore  the  reader  than  is  gained  by  the  flavor 
of  novelty  and  fidelity  to  character  which  it  imparts. 
The  Scotch  dialect  of  Burns's  poems  and  the  more  recent 
Hoosier  dialect  of  James  Whitcoml)  Riley's  are  familiar 
to  all.  Ill  novels,  Walter  Scott,  Geo.  MacDonald, 
Wm.  Black,  and  many  others  have  also  availed  them- 
selves of  Scotch  dialects.  The  negro  patois  of  our  own 
country  is  best  exhibited  by  Joel  Chandler  Harris.    The 


286  MISCELLANEOUS   FORMS. 

peculiarities  of  speech  of  tlie  Creoles  of  the  South  have 
served  Geo.  W.  Cahk^  more  than  once,  as  the  dialect  of 
the  western  miners  has  served  Bret  Harte. 


EXERCISE    LXXII. 

HUMOR. 

Humor  has  long  held  a  legitimate  -place  in  literature, 
and  has  had  its  representatives  in  many  times  and  lands, 
from  Aristophanes  to  Cervantes  and  from  Cervantes  to 
Washington  Irving.  Naturally  it  has  changed  mucli 
in  character  with  the  times  and  lands,  as  all  literature 
must  change,  perhaps  even  more  than  most  literature 
changes,  hut  this  fact  has  not  prevented  it,  when  of 
the  highest  order,  fi'om  preserving  an  abiding  place. 
It  would  he  folly  to  contend  that  Moliere's  fame  rests 
solely  on  his  truthful  delineation  of  character  and 
manners  for  the  purpose  of  satirizing  them,  or  that 
Chaucer  lives  in  spite  of  his  jests.  Humor  has  unques- 
tionably been  one  of  the  saving  elements  of  their  work. 

On  the  other  hand  it  may  be  doubted  whether  humor 
alone  could  save  any  work  to  fame.  If  this  quality 
endures,  it  endures  along  with  poetry,  history,  satire, 
pathos,  morality,  wisdom.  If  Aristophanes  and  JNIoliere, 
Chaucer  and  Cervantes,  Lamb  and  Irving,  are  read 
to-day,  it  is  for  something  besides  their  mere  wit  and 
humor.  They  did  not  disdain  to  provoke  a  smile  or 
even  raise  a  loud  laugh,  but  they  knew  that  there  are 
})urposes  in  literature  higher  than  these.  Wit  and 
humor  are  the  incidentals,  not  the  essentials,  the  form, 
it  may  be,  not  the  substance. 


HUMOR.  237 

Were  this  all  that  could  be  said  oi  humor,  it  would 
not  cdaim  special  attention  liere.  It  would  have  to 
pass  with  simplicity,  pathos,  imagination,  sublimity, 
and  all  those  qualities  of  sul)ject-matter  or  style  which 
a  writer  will  employ  according  to  his  purpose  and 
ability.  But  in  the  United  States  and  in  the  present 
century  a  demand  has  been  found  or  created  for  humor 
pure  and  simple,  wit  that  aims  to  do  nothing  more 
than  amuse.  Thus  there  has  arisen  a  form  of  writing 
almost  as  distinctive  as  Ihstory  or  fiction.  It  may  be 
evanescent,  though  there  is  little  evidence  yet  of 
a  falling  off  in  the  demand.  Puck,  Judge,  Life,  number 
their  readers  by  the  thousand ;  Bill  Nye  still  finds 
lecturing  renumerative  ;  and  Mark  Twain's  books  in 
our  public  lil)raries  are  Avorn  out  faster  than  they  can 
be  replaced.  Certainly,  whatever  may  be  true  of  tlie 
form,  the  separate  productions  are  evanescent  enough; 
this  is  attested  by  the  fact  tliat  the  "funny  paper" 
is  far  more  conspicuous  on  the  railway  car  and  in 
public  waiting-rooms  than  on  the  drawing-room  table, 
and  that  we  have  to  seek  the  humorous  book  in  tlie 
circulating  library  rather  than  on  our  private  shelves. 
The  humorous  writers  are  themselves  well  aware  of 
tills,  though  they  have  combined  with  their  public  to 
elevate  humorous  writing  to  the  dignity  of  a  pro- 
fession, and  follow  it,  content  if  they  can  win  the 
fleeting  popularity  of  a  day.  Wlio  sliall  say  that  they 
are  wrong,  or  that  we  are  wrong  to  encourage  them? 
Life  would  be  serious  indeed  without  its  pastimes  and 
recreations.  And  liumor  is  the  natural  recreation  of 
the  intellect.  Every  man  is  the  better  for  keejiing 
a  private  jester  in  llio  court  of  his  fancy. 


238  MISCELLANEOUS    FOIil^IS. 

But  he  who  would  mako  a  life  [)rofession  of  ;uuusing 
the  puhlic  must  be  a  '^  fellow  of  infinite  jest,"  and 
there  are  comparativtly  few  siu-h.  Considering  there- 
fore the  liniitations  of  the  utmost  success  which  even 
the  naturally  o-iftt'd  Immorist  can  hope  to  attain,  it 
would  certainly  seem  very  foolish  for  one  without  the 
gift  to  aspire  to  the  attainment.  Still,  every  news- 
paper must  have  its  paragra[)her,  and  the  meetings  of 
the  students'  literary  societies  would  lose  interest  if  the 
more  serious  orations  and  essays  were  not  interspersed 
wath  some  pieces  in  the  lighter  vein. 

First  of  all  hear  in  mind  that  forced  humor  is  not 
humor  at  all.  It  must  be  spontaneous.  Do  not  imagine 
that  because  some  of  our  best  humorists  have  been  men 
of  many  sorrows,  their  funny  sayings  have  therefore 
been  uttered  against  their  will.  Or  if  possil)ly  against 
their  will,  certainly  not  against  their  propensity.  There 
are  minds  so  constructed  that  they  will  fashion  of  the 
very  tints  of  sorrow  pictures  to  provoke  mirth.  They 
dwell  at  some  mysterious  point  of  view  from  which 
they  can  see  the  funny  side  of  everything.  Men  Avitli 
such  minds  may  sometimes  weary  of  this  visual  gift, 
and  then  they  may  have  to  exercise  their  will-power  to 
keep  from  shutting  their  eyes  —  that  is  all.  Not  neces- 
sarily he  who  tries  to  be  funny,  but  he  who  has  to  try 
in  order  to  l)e  funny  at  all  is  the  one  who  fails.  We 
may  laugh  at  the  latter  if  we  do  not  pity  him  too 
much:  we  shall  certainly  not  laugh  with  him. 

Nor  is  that  humor  of  a  commendable  kind  which 
makes  us  laugh  at  anv  one.  This  is  no  less  true  than 
trite.  It  belongs  to  the  ethics  of  fun-making.  It  merely 
means    that  the   laws   of   courtesy  are   never  held   in 


HUMOR.  239 

abeyance.  Coarseness  and  vulgarity  too  are  quite  as 
far  removed  as  incivility  or  cruelty  from  the  sphere  of 
genuine  humor.     Add  irreverence. 

Exaggeration,  hyperbole,  is  a  common  resort  of  one 
who  aims  to  make  another  laugh.  It  is  legitimate  if 
only  it  be  violent  enough  that  its  intent  shall  not 
be  mistaken.  Besides,  tiie  ludicrousness  of  the  effect 
seems  to  be  in  direct  proportion  to  the  violence  of  the 
hyperbole.  But  there  is  a  better  humor  than  this.  If 
we  were  to  express  our  preference  between  "  a  false- 
hood plausibly  pretending  to  be  true  "  '•'•  and  a  truism 
pretending  to  be  a  novelty,"  for  intensity  and  certainty 
of  ludicrous  effect  we  should  unhesitatingl}^  choose  the 
latter.  Exaggeration  grows  wearisome  but  the  truth 
seldom  palls.  And  we  do  not  need  to  invent  absurdi- 
ties :  human  life  is  full  of  them,  if  we  can  only  see 
them.  Still  it  is  not  these  that  Professor  Nichol  has  in 
mind  when  he  speaks  of  the  humorous  effects  due  to 
"  truisms  pretending  to  l)e  a  novelty."  He  is  thinking 
rather  of  those  truths  that  are  so  self-evident  that  we 
are  surprised  into  a  smile  when  we  hear  them  stated 
gravely  as  if  they  were  the  result  of  some  late  discovery 
or  some  mature  judgment.  Thus  it  is  that  we  cannot 
lielp  laugliing  at  Abraham  Lincoln's  deliberate  opinion 
tliat  a  man's  legs  "  ought  to  be  long  enougli  to  reach 
the  ground."  So  we  laugh  too,  when  asked  why  the 
Northerners  shake  a  salt-l)0x  while  the  Southerners  tap 
it  on  the  bottom,  to  learn  that  it  is  for  the  ver}^  obvious 
purpose  of  getting  the  salt  out.  If  one  will  analyze  a 
large  number  of  witty  sayings  he  will  find  that  the 
principles  underlying  them  are  very  few.  The  element 
of  surprise  is  perhaps  always  most  conspicuous,  and  it 


2-40  MISCELLANEOUS   FORMS. 

is  generally  effected  in  one  of  the  ways  indicated 
above. 

Without  going  outside  of  the  field  of  American  liter- 
ature, one  can  cite  as  exami)les  of  the  finest  humor 
Irving's  Knickerhocker  and  Holmes's  Autocrat  of  the 
Breakfast  Table.  For  what  is  known  as  "American 
humor,"  though  it  .is  of  too  many  types  to  be  dis- 
tinguished thus,  we  naturally  turn  to  the  works  of  those 
Avriters  who  have  confined  themselves  to  this  field, 
Artemus  Ward,  Josh  Billings,  Mark  Twain.  Much  of 
Mr.  Burdette's  work  is  not  unworthy  of  standing  by 
the  side  of  these  masters  in  this  department.  And  new 
writers  are  constantly  developing  new  veins. 

A  deliberate  attempt  at  writing  a  humorous  sketch 
is  an  undertaking  ol  doubtful  expediency,  and  the 
student  who  makes  it  must  not  have  too  much  confi- 
dence. The  result  may  be  laughable  in  a  Avay  very 
different  from  that  in  which  it  was  intended.  One's 
success  at  least  can  be  easily  estimated  for  one's  readers 
will  see  at  once  whether  he  has  any  gift  of  humor  or 
not.  We  may  have  very  diverse  ideas  as  to  the  best 
kind  of  humor  but  Ave  are  all  pretty  well  agreed  as  to 
what  is  distinctly  not  humor.  And  at  the  worst,  failure 
in  this  line  is  not  very  much  to  be  deplored,  unless  one 
aims  at  success  in  some  higher  field  of  literature  where 
humor  is  a  requisite. 

EXERCISE   LXXIII. 

THE    SHORT   STORY. 

In  our  survey  of  the  field  of  composition  (Parts  I. 
and  II.),  which  aimed  to  be  systematic  and  at  least 


THE    SHORT    STORY.  241 

approximately  complete,  we  were  brouglit  to  the  thresh- 
old of  literature  proper,  of  creative  literature.  No  exact 
defiuition  of  this  terui  ueeds  to  be  attempted  here  ; 
suffice  it  to  say  that  it  is  literature  which  deals  not  with 
external  facts  and  events  as  such  merely,  l)ut  either 
creates  fresh  material  in  the  likeness  of  these  or  presents 
these  to  us  idealized  and  glorified  by  the  selection, 
organization,  and  interpretation  of  a  master  intellect. 
In  this  department  anything  like  an  attempt  at  instruc- 
tion must  prove  peculiarly  barren  of  results.  But  art 
has  its  part  to  play  even  here,  and  where  art  is  demanded 
it  would  be  idle  to  assume  that  nothing  helpful  can  l)e 
said.  What  little  can  be  said  in  tliis  place  must  of 
course  be  confined  to  the  broadest  principles. 

Creative  literature  in  prose  dress  commonly  takes  the 
form  of  fiction,  by  whatever  name  —  tales,  romances, 
novels  —  it  may  be  known.  Prose  fiction  is  nothing 
new,  but  its  wonderful  growth  in  the  present  century 
has  marked  an  era  in  tlie  liistory  of  literature.  And 
even  within  this  period  there  have  been  great  changes. 
Tlie  voluminous  novel  of  a  former  generation  has  largely 
given  way  to  the  short  story,  very  different  in  character 
from  tlie  old  tales  which  led  up  to  the  elaborate  novel. 
In  this  form,  even  novel-writing  ran  afford  valuable  and 
delightful  exercise  in  composition.  To  this,  then,  l)e 
our  efforts  directed. 

One  is  reminded  here  of  the  "stoiy"  wiitten  by  a 
pupil  in  response  to  a  request  from  the  teacher  for  an.^ 
impromptu  ten-minute  sketch.  The  jmpil  sal  thought- 
fully until  the  hist  minute  and  tlicn  rapidly  wrote, 
"I  am  a  worn-out  shoe.  J\Iy  coffin  is  the  ash-barrel,  my 
grave  the  dump."     Homely  as  this  is,  it  illustrates  the 


242  MISCELLANEOUS    FORMS. 

possibility  of  telling  a  complete  and  symmetrical  story 
Avitliiii  the  compass  of  a  few  words.  That  is  what  the 
short  story  aims  to  do.  And  therein  chiefly  it  differs 
from  the  oldtime  tale.  The  latter  relates  an  episode 
in  the  life  of  one  or  more  persons,  and  it  is  felt  to 
be  only  an  episode.  The  short  story  tries  to  coml)ine 
with  brevity  of  expression  many  of  the  elements  of  the 
long  novel.  It  seizes  npon  what  is  characteristic  or 
typical.  If  it  is  a  single  incident,  it  may  be  the  great 
shaping  power  of  a  life,  or  it  may  be  the  crisis  of  one, 
the  inevitable  outcome  of  habit  and  character.  It  will  l)e 
seen  at  once  that  success  in  this  field  will  depend,  more 
than  upon  anything  else,  upon  the  writer's  mastery  of 
the  art  of  selection.  'J'lie  questions  kept  constantly 
before  him  will  be.  What  more  can  I  exclude  and  yet 
tell  my  story?  How  can  I  give  a  history  in  a  chapter, 
a  chapter  in  a  sentence  ?  make  a  word  serve  for  a  scene, 
a  deed  for  a  character?  To  grasp  a  situation  at  the 
climax  and  reproduce  it  for  the  reader  without  further 
explanation  or  circundocution  —  that  is  the  task. 

The  following  are  very  good  examples  of  what  can 
be  done  in  this  line  even  by  inexpert  writers  : 

THE    KIVALS. 

There  were  two  rivals  in  oar  class.  It  A\as  near  the  close  of 
the  year  and  they  had  inaiiitained  nearly  equal  standing.  We 
were  taking  the  final  exanunation  in  arithmetic.  The  last 
example  was  particularly  hard.  One  of  the  rivals  sat  in  front  of 
^iie,  the  other  just  across  tlie  aisle. 
•  The  hour  was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the  boy  in  front  of  me 
had  completed  his  paper.  The  boy  opposite  had  worked  rapidly 
till  he  came  to  the  last  example;  then  he  hesitated,  and  stopped. 

The  hour  was  nearly  up  when  the  teacher  left  the  room  for  a 
moment.     From  a  few  seats  back  came  a  loud  whisper  ;   "  How 


THE    SHUKT    STUKV.  248 

do  you  Avork  tlie  last?"  The  answer  was  given.  The  boy 
opposite  brightened  up  and  leaned  forward  to  complete  his  work. 
Then  he  hesitated,  blushed,  laid  down  his  pen,  and  folded  his 
paper.  j.  a.  L. 

IN    THE    CEMETERY. 

A  few  Sundays  since  I  strolled  out  to  the  cemetery.  Here  and 
there  upon  the  mounds  were  seated  groups  of  young  girls  talking 
and  laughing  loudly.  A  num,  leading  a  smiling  child,  a  little 
girl  perhaps  four  years  old,  passed  by  with  bowed  head  and 
approached  a  long  newly  nuide  grave.  The  father  knelt  un- 
covered at  its  side.  The  little  one  glanced  up  with  smiling 
wonderment,  then  knelt  beside  him.  T  looked  again;  the  father 
had  risen  and  before  leaving  was  reverently  replacing  the  dirt  of 
the  mound,  where  a  careless  foot  had  marred  its  symmetry.  The 
child  stopped,  made  a  few  similar  gestures  with  a  tiny  hand,  then 
turned  with  a  satisfied  smile  to  the  father  and  they  passed  on. 
The  laughing  of  the  heedless  groups  jarred  upon  me  and  I  walked 
away.  A, 

The  above  are  single  situations  merely,  and  may  not 
be  pure  fiction.  But  the  short  story  may  be  much 
wider  of  scope,  may  be  indeed  a  novel  in  miniature. 
The  resources  of  this  literary  form  have  as  yet  been 
only  partially  developed  by  English  and  American 
writers.  The  reader  Avho  is  interested  in  the  subject 
is  referred  to  the  many  short  stories  of  Francis  Bret 
Harte,  Frank  R.  Stocktoii,  Richard  Harding  Davis, 
Mary  E.  Wilkins. 

It  Avill  be  seen  further  that  in  the  writing  of  tiction 
in  its  broadest  sense  there  is  scarcely  a  device  or 
princii)le  of  composition  which  we  have  alluded  to 
that  will  not  come  into  play.  Indeed  what  form  of 
discourse  is  useless  here  ?  Certainly  not  narration  or 
description  ;  nor  exposition.  Is  it  argument  or  per- 
suasion?    You  will  find  actual  sermons  in  the  novels 


244  MISCELLANEOUS    FOIIMS. 

of  George  Eliot ;  and  public  speeches,  trials  at  law, 
philosoi^hical  dialogues  and  discpiisitions,  abound  in 
works  of  pure  fiction.  INlastery  therefore  of  the  whole 
art  of  composition  is  a  rc(jj.iisite  to  the  novelist's  highest 
success. 

To  be  sure,  something  more  is  needed — the  power 
of  genius,  the  creative  touch,  which  alone  can  make 
a  work  of  fiction  live,  whether  that  work  aim  to  portray 
life  as  it  is  or  life  as  it  ought  to  be.  But  this  some- 
thing is  inconnnunicable  save  by  inspiration.  Here 
then  we  stop,  full  in  the  front  too  of  the  highest  form 
of  creative  literature  —  poetry  —  which,  like  fiction, 
would  require  a  special  treatise  even  for  its  technical 
side. 


INDEX. 


[Titles  of  exercises  are  in  smai^l  caiutals  ;   titles  of  models  are  in  i/alics  ] 


Accuracy,  33,  52. 

Addison,  Joseph,  123. 

Agassiz,  Louis,  102. 

Almost  a  Eunaway,  18,  21. 

Auiiel,  H.-F.,  231. 

Andei-sen,  II.  C,  95. 

Ammal  Haisits,  72. 

Animals,  0'.). 

Argumentation  defined,  137-13t». 

Argument   from   Sklf-evident 

Facts,  137  ;   by  Careful  Ex- 

posiTiox,  139. 
Aristocracy  in  America,  124. 
Aristophanes,  8,  236. 
Arnold,  Matthew,  134,  151,  171. 
Art,  Works  of,  85. 
Autobiography,     Outline,    39 ; 

Detailed,  41 ;   Imaginary,  42. 

Bacon,  Lord,  123. 
Balzac,  88,  104,  105. 
Bar,  The,   190. 
Baseball,  35. 
Baslikirtseff,  Marie,  230. 
Beauty,  54,  112,  117. 
"Billings,  Josh,"  240. 
Biograrhv,  44. 
Birds,  70. 

Black,  Win.,  85,  235. 
Book  Reviews,  220. 
Books,  use  of,  5(5,  59,  (i:;,  09. 
Boswell,  44. 

Breck,  Hon.  .Sanuirl,  1S5. 
Brevity,  75,  214. 


Bringing  a  Shark  Abuard,  100. 
Browning,  Robt.,  105. 
Buildings,  Towns,  etc.,  51. 
Bunyan,  John,  38. 
Burdette,  Robt.,  240. 
Burns,  Robt.,  235. 
Burroughs,  John,  (39. 

Cabin,  A,  53. 

Cable,  Geo.  W.,  84,  235. 

Cap,  English  Literature  be  Taught  ? 
141. 

Capitalization,  112. 

Carleton,  Will,  39,  105. 

Cemetery,  In  the,  24:!. 

Cervantes,  236. 

Character  Description,  Real, 
89;   Ideal,  93. 

Chaucer,  236. 

Cheney,  S.  P.,  70. 

Childe  Harold,  152. 

Choate,  Rufus,  186. 

Circumlocution,  40.       /  / 

Clearing  Weather,  84.  ,/ 

Clearness,  35,  54,  112,  116,  196, 
215. 

College  President,  The,  128. 

Collins,  Wilkie,  232. 

Composition,  emotional,  7  ;  scien- 
tific, 7  ;  originality  in,  8  ;  length 
of,  39  ;  an  art,  48,  116  ;  princi- 
ples of,  111-117,  192;  .scope  of, 
209,  210;  complete  method  of, 
211. 


24() 


INDKX. 


Concei)ts,  112. 

Condensation,  40,  110,  214,  2]!t. 

Conduct,  171. 

Connotation,  i;Jl. 

Contests,  Piivsic.vi.,  '.)('>;    Ixtki.- 

LECTUAL,    39. 

Convei-sation.     See  Dialogues. 
Cooper,  J.  r.,  100. 

ClUTIClSM,    V'i2. 

Criticism,  80;    of  Avi-ittcn  work, 

33. 
Cruifie,  .1,  20. 

Darwin.  1 1:'.,  1  17. 
Davis,  Kichard  II..  24.-5. 
Debate,  150,  1()2,  100. 
Deductive  Keasoni.ng,  140,  154. 
Definition,  logical,  130. 
De  Foe,  Daniel,  41. 
Denotation,  131. 
De  Quincey,  Thos.,  128,  232. 
Description,  defined,  33,  34,  47, 

54,  118  ;  scientific,  51  ;  literary, 

51,  81 ;   methodical,  61-03,  36, 

87. 
Desckiption,    of    Persons,    80  ; 

Imaginative,  94. 
Dialect,  200,  235. 
Dialogues,  232. 
Diamond,  67. 

Diaries,  229.     See  also  103. 
Dickens,  Chas.,  84,  107. 
Diffuseness,  40,  116. 
Direct  Address,  175,  189,  100. 
Division,  logical,  130-132. 
Dowden,  Prof.,  134. 
Dude's  Disco-mfiture,  A,  19,  22. 

Editorials,  216. 

Eliot,  George,  85,  202,  244. 

Eloquence,  190-192. 


Knijilia.si.s,  1 11,  115. 
E.s.say,  the  modern,  120. 
Essays  of  Elia,  123. 
Kupliony,  114. 
lOvioKNci:,  157. 
Excursions,  101. 
Expansion,  40. 
Exposition  dcfiiici],  110   121. 
E.xtciiiporaneous  .speaking,  189. 

Fallacies  of  reasoning,  155,  150. 
Fiction,  241. 

Fignres  of  .six.'cch,  35,  82,  191. 
FitzGerakl,  Edward,  220. 

Fl.oWKHS.  03. 

Force,  54,  112,  110. 
Foreign  hnmifjndion,  197. 
Formal  Essays,   126. 
Foiiquf'',  38. 

Franklin,  Benj.,  42,  113. 
F'ruits,  61. 

Games  of  Skill,  33. 
Geological  Formation.^-,  58. 
Gough,  J.  B.,  42. 
Grant,  JohnB.,  69. 
Grimm  Brothers,  95. 

Harris,  Joel  C,  235. 

Harte,  Bret,  23,  105,  235,  243. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  43,  44,  48, 

52,  95. 
Hermit  in  the  Willows,  The,  90. 
History,  45. 
Ilitt,  Hon.  R.  K.,  198. 
Holmes,  Dr.  O.  W.,  235,  240. 
Howells,  W.  D.,  105. 
ILoio  the  Wasp  Makes  Tier  Nest, 

73. 
Hughes,  Thos.,  38. 
Hugo,  Victor,  87,  105. 


INDEX. 


247 


Humboldt,  xVlex.  von,  102. 
Hii.'NioR,  2;]G. 
Hyperbole,  230. 


Idealism,  52,  93,  210,  241. 
Illusions  of  sense,  158. 
Imitation,  78. 
Immigrants,  Intell'ujence  of  Our, 

219. 
Incident,  15;    Simple,  17;  Coi.- 

oKEO,   19;    Emisellished,  21; 

Complex,  29,  31. 
Indian  Bread  Making,  55. 
Induction  defined,  145-147. 
IxDrcTivE  Reasoning,  143,  145. 
Informal  Essays,  122. 
Ingelow,  Jean,  85. 
Interest,  5. 
Irving,  Washington,  41,  98,  113, 

230,  240. 

Jnrk\s  Ignominy,  27. 
Jefferson,  Joseph,  42. 
Jeffrey,  Francis,  134. 
Journalism,  211. 
Journals.     See  Diaries. 
Judas  Tree,  The,  C>1. 

Kane,  Elisha 'Kent,  102. 
Kennan,  Geo.,  102. 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  98,  105. 

Land),  C'has.,  123,  2.36. 
Landor,  W.  S.,  234. 
Leaf  from  My  Diary,  A,  103. 
Legislature,  The,  195. 
Letters,  224. 
LiUipuUan  Engineers,  73. 
Lippard,  Geo.,  107. 
Literary  finish,  33,  40. 


Literature,  20  ;  creative,  241,  244. 
Little  Paupers,  129. 
Livingstone,  David,  102. 
Longfellow,  II.  W.,  103. 
Lotteries,  198. 
Lowell,  J.  R.,  134. 


Macaulay,  Lord,  128. 
MacDonald,  Geo.,  95,  235. 
Manufacture,  Processes  of,  53. 
Margins,  112. 
Material,  how  to  find,   5-14,  50, 

59,  209,  218,  219. 
Mathews,  Win.,  152. 
Matthews,  Brander,  141,  223. 
Maxims,  4. 

Mechanical  Contrivances,  49. 
Memoirs,  44. 
Miller,  Joaquin,  85. 
Miller,  Olive  Thorne,  09. 
Mineral  Kingdom,  The,  50. 
Minto,  Win.,  152. 
Moli^re,  236. 
Montaigne,  123. 
Mt.  Kenesaw,  70. 
Must  the  Classics  Go  ?  165. 

Narration,  15,  54  ;  combined  with 
description,  97  ;   order  of,  99. 

Natural  Objects,  50) ;  in  Con- 
junction WITH  Artificial,  77. 

Naturalness,  200,  22(i,  230. 

Nature,  at  Rest,  75 ;  in  Ac- 
tivity, 81. 

News,  211. 

New  York  Evening  Past,  219. 

Nichol,  I'rof.,  239. 

Novels,  241. 

Novelty,  3,  7,  11-14,  35,  72,  102. 

"Nye,  Bill,"  237. 


248 


INDEX. 


Ubservatioii,   13,   57,  50,  (il,  (Jit, 

105,  144. 
Occasional  discourse,  185. 
On  Translat'nu/  Ilonur,  \:U. 

OUATOKV,    ]K\. 

O'Rell,  Max,  124. 

Originality,  35. 

Ornamental  composition,   li),  21, 

Outlines,  115,  127-120. 

Paragraphs,  112-115. 

Participles,  32. 

Peabody,  Selini  II.,  71,  73. 

Pepys,  Samuel,  230. 

Perrault,  05. 

Peksonal  Adventurics,  08. 

Personal  equation,  104. 

Personal  Interest,  Persuasion 
RY  Appeal  to,   173. 

Personal  tone,  123. 

Persuasive  Discourse,   171. 

Phelps,  Eliz.  S.,  05. 

Photography,  20,  51. 

Physiology,  A  Plea  for  more  Gen- 
eral Instruction  in,  175. 

Plan.     See  Outlines. 

Plants,  05,  08. 

Platform,  The,  204. 

Plato,  234. 

Plutarch,  44. 

Poetry,  244. 

Point  of  view,  70,  86. 

Popular  taste,  35. 

Porter,  Jane,  100. 

Probability,  100-100. 

Prolixity,  40,  110. 

Prophecy,  100. 

Proportion,  87.  See  also  Sym- 
metry. 

Propositions,  110. 


Provincialisms,  113. 
Pulpit,  The,   100. 
Punctuation,  112,  220. 

Questions,  of  fact,  150;  of  opin- 
ion, 162  ;  of  probability,  106  ; 
form  of,  101. 

Kant,  101,  201. 

Religious  Duty,  Persuasion  by 
Appeal  to,  170. 

Repetition,  117,  100. 
Riley,  J.  W.,  235. 
Rivals,  The,  242. 
liousseau,  J.  J.,  232. 
Ruskin,  John,  1.34,  211. 

Scenes  from  History,   105. 
Scenes  from  Lu-k,  104. 
School    Like,     Incident    from, 

25. 
Schreiner,  Olive,  70. 
Science,  study  of,  181. 
Scientific  Treatises,  120. 
Scott,  Walter,  38,  100,  105,  235. 
Selection,  the  art  of,  21-23,  210, 

242. 
Sentences,  kinds,  structure,  and 

arrangement  of,  114. 
Sewell,  Anna,  43. 
Shakespeare,  105. 
Simplicity,  113,  215. 
Slang,  35,  113. 
Social    Duty,    Persuasion    by 

Appeal  to,  178. 
Social  Gatherings,  07. 
Spencer,  Herbert,  175,  181,  184. 
Spoken  discourse,  180,  195. 
Stanley,  Henry  M.,  102. 
Stevenson,  R.  L.,  30. 
Stockton,  F.  R.,  243. 


INDEX. 


24 


0(0 


Story,  The  Siiokt,  240. 

Stump,  The,   188. 

Style,  liow  to  attain  the  best,  112  ; 
adaptation  of,  200 ;  inflated, 
38 ;  imaginative,  43,  03 ;  dra- 
matic, 104  ;  rambling,  123  ; 
colloquial,  123. 

Subjects,  .suitable,  5,  209  ;  to  be 
avoided,  3—5,  10  ;  abstract,  3  ; 
proverbial,  4 ;  figurative,  4 ; 
indefinite,  u. 

Syllogism,  150-152,  154-150. 

Symmetry,  30,  Gl,  05,  75,  76. 

Symonds,  J.  A.,  100. 

Synnot,  Henrietta  L. ,  120. 

Talmage,  T.  D.,  202. 

Taste,  00,  110. 

Tautology,  40. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  103. 

Technical  terms,  35,  50,  56,  62, 

63. 
Terms,  119-121. 
Testimony,  158. 
Thompson,  Maurice,  38,  69. 
Thread  of  narration,  30. 


Thwiug,  C'has.  F.,  128. 

Title,  appropriate,  16,  27  ;  attrac- 
tive, 10  ;  value  of,  20  ;  inter- 
rogative forms  of,  158. 

Toasts,  185. 

Tornado,  The,  83. 

Trailing  Arbutus,  The,  64. 

Transition,  32. 

Travels,  101. 

Troy,  6. 

"Twain,  Mark,"  237,  240. 

Unity,  39,  41,  01,  115. 
Usage,  115. 

Vegetable  Wored,  The,  61. 
Verne,  Jules,  95. 

Wallace,  Lew,  36,  107. 
Walpole,  Horace,  228. 
"Ward,  Artemus,"  240. 
West,  Prof.  Andrew  F.,  105. 
Wilkins,  Mary  F.,  243. 
Winchell,  Alexander,  59. 
Won  in  One  Inning,  34. 
Words,  choice  of,  113. 


GENTINO'S 

Outlines  of    Rhetoric. 

(Announced  as  High  School  Rhetoric.) 

By  Professor  John  F.  Genung  of  Amherst  College,  author  of 
"  Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric." 


Introduction   price,   $1.00. 


It  is  Practical.  —  The  author  has  taken  his  time  in 
preparing  it,  in  order  that  every  part  might  be  tested  and 
seasoned.  Besides  the  years  that  have  been  devoted  to 
the  making  of  this  book,  he  has  had  the  advantage  of 
long  practical  experience  in  the  class-room  ;  and  the  prepa- 
ration and  use  of  earlier  text-books  have  enabled  him  to 
judge  what  is  best  adapted  to  work  well  in  this.  The  result 
is  a  book  of  which  every  rule  can  be  put  to  immediate  use 
in  the  pupil's  work. 

It  is  Clear.  —  Great  care  has  been  devoted  to  giving 
the  principles  in  such  plain  and  simple  language  that  the 
pupil  will  not  fail  to  understand  ;  and  such  is  its  clearness 
that  even  beginners  will  find  many  of  the  deeper  prin- 
ciples of  expression,  as  well  as  the  simpler,  both  lucid 
and  interesting. 

It  is  Full,  yet  Brief.  —  Enough  explanation  is  given 
under  each  rule  to  explain  it  fully  in  all  the  applications 
needed  for  use  ;  yet  not  an  unnecessary  sentence  or  word 
has  been  admitted.  Text  and  illustrations  alike  are  crisp, 
pointed,   definite. 

It  is  a  Book  to  be  Remembered.  —  From  beginning 
to  end  the  principles  of  rhetoric  are  condensed  into  brief, 
well-worded  rules,  such  as  can  be  easily  carried  in  memory, 
and  every  one  of  which  contains  a  precept  worth  remem- 
bering.     'I'his,   a  unique   feature   of    the  present  book,   will 


enable   tlic   student   to  carry  the   whole  science  of   rhetoric 
compendiously,   in  very  small   and   \ery   usable   compass. 

It  is  a  Book  for  Drill.  r>e_i;innini;  with  sentences  to 
be  corrected,  compositions  to  be  rewritten,  problems  to  be 
worked  out,  it  goes  on  by  degrees  to  work  that  is  more 
originative,  all  needed  directions  l^eing  given  by  means  of 
notes  and  references,  until  by  the  time  the  student  has 
gone  through  the  book  he  has  exemplified  all  the  great 
processes  of  composition,  from  choice  of  words  up  to  the 
planning  and  working  out  of  complete  essays  of  his  own. 

It  is  adapted  to  Rouse  Thought.  In  every  part  the 
endeavor  is  made  to  develop  and  foster  that  contriving, 
originative  spirit  which  every  young  person  has  in  doing 
what  interests  him,  and  which  every  writer  must  have  in 
order  to  bring  anything  to  pass. 

It  is  a  practical  Handbook  for  every  Writer,  —  The 
rules  are  a  body  of  precepts  such  as  any  one  will  do 
well  to  have  at  hand  ;  all  the  parts  of  the  book  are  .so 
arranged  as  to  be  easily  found  and  consulted  ;  and  the 
appendix  contains,  arranged  in  alphabetical  order,  a  large 
body  of  words  and  phrases  that  a  writer  ought  to  heed 
if  he  would  conform  his  work  to  good  usage. 

The  Teacher's  Key  will  give  such  full  directions  that 
instructors  will  know  how  best  to  teach  every  exercise 
and  what  is  especially  to  be  noted  in  each. 

The  author's  Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric  has 
proved  no  doubt  the  most  successful  college  text-book  on 
the  subject  published  in  recent  years.  It  has  been  both 
"taking"  and  "lasting."  The  Outlines  is  in  no  sense  a 
condensation  or  adaptation  of  that,  but  an  entirely  new 
book  prepared  for  a  different  field  after  a  lung  and  careful 
study  of  its  peculiar  needs. 


GINN    &    COMPANY,    Publishers, 

BOSTON,  NEW  YORK,  AND  CHICAGO. 


6 

HIGHER   ENGLISH. 

[See  also  Classics  for  Children,  jtayes  ii  to  5.\ 

Lessons  in  English. 

Adapted  to  the  study  of  American  Classics.  A  text^book  for  High 
Schools  and  Academies.  By  Sara  E.  H.  Lockwood,  formerly  teacher 
of  English  in  the  High  School,  New  Haven,  Conn.  12mo.  Cloth, 
xix  +  403  pages.     Mailing  price,  ^1.25;  for  introduction,  $1.12. 

Thanatopsis  and  Other  Favorite  Poems  of  Bryant. 

Prepared  especially  to  accompany  Lockwood's  Lessons  in  English. 
12mo.    Paper.    61  pages.    Mailing  price,  12 cents;  for  introd.,  10  cents. 

T^HIS  is,  in  a  word,  a  practical  High  School  text-book  of  English, 
embracing  langtiage,  composition,  rhetoric,  and  literature. 
It  presents  in  simple  and  attractive  style,  the  essentials  of  good 
English  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  develops  a  critical  literary  taste, 
by  applying  these  rules  and  principles  to  the  study  of  American 
Classics. 

The  plan  provides  for  a  course  in  English  extending  over  the 
pupil's  first  year  and  a  half  in  the  High  School,  the  work  being 
preparatory  to  the  study  of  English  Literature  as  usually  pursued 
in  schools  of  this  grade.  These  "  Lessons  "  include  the  most  im- 
portant facts  concerning  the  History  and  Elements  of  the  Lan- 
guage, Common  Errors  in  the  Use  of  English,  the  Study  of  AVords, 
Rules  for  the  Construction  of  Sentences,  Figures  of  Speech,  Punc- 
tuation, Letter-Writing,  Composition,  and  Biographical  Sketches 
of  the  seven  authors  particularly  studied,  —  Irving,  Bryant,  Long- 
fellow, Whittier,  Hawthorne,  Holmes,  and  Lowell. 

Katharine  Lee  Bates,  Professor 
of  English,  Welleslij  College,  Mass. : 
While  the  treatment  of  the  various 
subjects  included  is  thorough,  sound 
and  clear,  the  art  of  the  teacher  is 
most  happily  displayed  throughout. 
English  stucfy  guided  by  this  volume 
can  hardly  fail  to  bo  at  once  profit- 
able and  delightful. 

F.  A.  Hill,  Frill.  English  High 
School,  (Jm  abridge.,  Mass.:  The  book 
opens  to  me  like  a  very  sensil)lo, 
prat^tical  and  attractive  book  ;  and  I 
may  say  that  the  author  has  hit  the 
nail  pretty  squarely  on  the  head. 

James  Winne,  Prin.  High  School, 
Poughkeepsie,   A',  i'. ;   The  more  I 


examine  it  and  other  books,  the 
more  I  like  it.  As  yet  I  have  found 
no  text  that  I  like  so  well  as  Lock- 
wood's. 

C.  G.  Dunlap,  Prof,  of  English, 
Kas.  State  University :  I  know  of  no 
text-book  on  elementary  English  so 
satisfactory  to  me  as  this.  Any 
student  who  masters  it  is  soundly 
prepared  in  elementary  English. 

R.  E.  Blackwell,  Prof,  of  English, 
Randolph- Ma  con  College,  Virginia: 
I  was  so  pleased  with  the  book  that  I 
j)Ut  it  into  my  preparatory  class.  It 
lias  stirred  more  interest  in  tlie  study 
of  English  than  any  book  1  have  ever 
used  iu  that  class. 


UlCillEK    ENGLISH.  7 

The  Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric. 

By  .lonN  F.  (Jknuno,  I'li.l).,  I'roffssor  of  Klictoric  in  Aiiilicrst  Collc^ic. 
l^'iiio.    Cloth,    xiv  +  483  pages.    Mailing  price,  .$1.40;  lor  intnxL,  .'g;i. 25. 

'pilE  treatment  is  characterized  by  good  sense,  simplicity,  origi- 
nality, availability,  completeness  and  ample  illustration. 

It  is  throughout  constructive  and  the  student  is  regarded  at 
every  step  as  endeavoring  to  make  litei'alure.  All  of  the  literary 
forms  have  been  given  something  of  the  fulness  hitherto  accorded 
only  to  argument  and  oratory.  No  important  principle  has  been 
presented  without  illustrations  drawn  from  the  usage  of  the  best 
authorities. 

Genuiig's  Khetoric,  though  a  work  on  a  trite  subject,  has  aroused 
general  enthusiasm  by  its  freshness  and  practical  worth.  Among 
the  many  leading  institutions  tliat  have  introduced  it  are  Welles- 
ley,  Smith,  Vassar  Colleges  ;  Cornell,  Johns  Hopkins,  Vanderbilt, 
Northwestern  Universities  ;  and  the  Universities  of  Virginia, 
North  Carolina,  Illinois,  Minnesota,  Kansas,  Michigan. 

T.  W.  Hunt,  Prof,  of  End.  Litera- 
ture, Princeton  College,  Priiieetoii., 
N.  J. :  It  impresses  nie  as  a  philo- 
sophic ami  useful  manual.  I  like 
especially  its  literary  spirit. 

w.  H.  iVIagruder,  Prof,  of  English, 
Agrieidtural  and  Mechanical  College 
of  Missi.ssipjti :  For  clearness  of 
tlionglit,  lucidity  of  expression,  apt- 
ness of  illustration,  —  in  short,  for 
real  teaching  power,  —  I  have  never 
seen  this  work  equalled. 


C.  F.  Richardson,  Prof,  (f  English,, 
Literal inr,  /Jarl mouth  College,  and 
author  of  a  History  of  American. 
Literature  :  1  tind  it  excellent  hotli 
in  jilan  ami  execution. 

Miss  M.  A.  Jordan,  Prof,  of  Phet- 
oric,  Smith  College,  JS^of-thampton., 
Mass. :  The  critic  is  conscious  of  a 
feeling  of  surprise  as  he  misses  the 
orthodox  dulness.  The  analysis  of 
topics  is  clear,  the  illustrations  are 
pertinent  and  of  value  in  themselves, 
the  rules  are  concise  and  portahle. 

A  Handbook  of  Rhetorical  Analysis. 

Studies  in  Style  and  Invention,  designed  to  accompany  the  author's 
Practical  Elements  of  Rhetoric.  By  John  F.  Genung,  Ph.D.,  Pro- 
fessor of  Rhetoric  in  Amherst  College.  12mo.  Cloth,  xii  +  ;'.0G  pages. 
Mailing  Price,  $1.25;  Introduction  and  Teachers'  Price,  HI. 12. 

n^IIIS  handbook  follows  the  general  plan  of  the  larger  text-book, 

being  designed  to  alternate  with  that  from  tiine  to  time,  aa 

different  stages  of  the  subject  are  reached. 

J.  H.  Gilmore,  Prof,  of  Rhetoric,  Whittenherg  College,  Springfield, 
Unlversili/  of  Rochester,  N.  Y. :  This  Ohio :  Its  actual  use  in  class  work 
strikes  me  as  a  very  significant  at^  has  confirmed  my  former  favorable 
tempt  to  open  a  road  that  college  judgment  of  it.  It  is  not  surpassed 
students  especially  need  to  travel.        or  equalled  by  any  other  work  in  the 

C.  L.  Ehrenfeid,  Frof.  English,  same  liue. 


8  HIGHER   ENGLISH. 

M into' a  Manual  of  English  Prose  Literature. 

Designed  maiuly  to  show  characteristics  of  style.  By  William  Minto, 
M.A.,  Professor  of  Logic  aud  Euglish  Literature  iu  the  Uuiver&ity  of 
Aberdeen,  Scotland.  12mo.  Cloth.  5(j(j  pages.  Mailing  price,  $1.65; 
for  introduction,  ;gl.50. 

rpiIE  niaiu  design  is  to  assist  iii  directing  students  in  English 
composition  to  the  merits  and  defects  of  the  principal  writers 
of  prose,  enabling  them,  in  some  degree  at  least,  to  acquire  the  one 
and  avoid  the  other.  The  Introduction  analyzes  style :  elements 
of  style,  qualities  of  style,  kinds  of  composition.  Part  First  gives 
exhaustive  analyses  of  De  Quincey,  Macaulay,  and  Carlyle.  These 
serve  as  a  key  to  all  the  other  authors  treated.  Part  Second  takes 
up  the  prose  authors  in  historical  order,  from  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury up  to  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth. 


Hiram  Corson,  Prof.  English  Lit- 
erature, Cornell  University:  With- 
out going  outside  of  this  book,  an  ear- 
nest student  could  get  a  knowledge 
of  English  prose  styles,  based  on  the 
soundest  principles  of  criticism,  such 
as  he  could  not  get  in  any  twenty 
volumes  which  I  know  of. 

Katherine  Lee  Bates,  Prof,  of 
Enf/lish,  Wellesleij  College :  It  is  of 
sterling  value. 

John  M.  Ellis,  Prof,  of  English 
Literature,  Oberlin  College:  I  am 
using  it  for  reference  with  great  in- 


terest. The  criticisms  and  comments 
on  authors  are  admirable  —  the  best, 
on  the  whole,  that  I  have  met  with 
in  any  text-book. 

J.  Scott  Clark,  Prof,  of  Rhetoric, 
Syracuse  Unii'ersity  :  We  have  now 
given  Minto's  Euglish  Prose  a  good 
trial,  and  I  am  so  much  pleased  that 
I  want  some  more  of  the  same. 

A.  W.  Long,  Wo  ford  College,  Spar- 
tanhurg,  S.C:  I  have  used  Minto's 
English  Poets  and  English  Prose  the 
past  year,  and  am  greatly  pleased 
with  the  results. 


Minto's   Characteristics   of  the   English   Poets, 

from  Chaucer  to  Shirley. 

By  William  Minto,  M.A.,  Professor  of  Logic  and  English  Literature 
in  the  University  of  Aberdeen,  Scotland.  12mo.  Cloth..  xi  + 382  pages. 
Mailing  price,  $1.05;  for  introduction,  ^L!jO. 

rPIIE  chief  objects  of  the  author  are:   (1)  To  bring  into  clear 

light  the  characteristics  of  the  several  poets ;  and  (2)  to  trace 

bow  far  each  was  influenced  by  his  literary  predecessors  and  his 

contemporaries. 


IlKJUEK    ENGLISH.  9 

Selections  in  English  Prose  from  Elizabeth  to 

Victoria.      1580-1880. 

By  Jamks  M.  Gaknktt,  Professor  of  tlio  Eii.nlisli  Laiif^naRo  and  Liter- 
ature in  the  University  of  Virjiiiiia.  12ino.  ('lotii.  ix  +  701  pages. 
lly  mail,  ■Sl-<>''>;  for  introduction,  $\.TA). 

^piIE  selections  arc  accompanied  by  sucli  explanatory  notes  as 
liave  been  deemed  necessary,  and  will  average  some  twenty 
pages  each.  The  object  is  to  provide  students  with  the  texts 
themselves  of  the  most  prominent  writers  of  English  prose  for 
the  past  three  hundred  years  in  selections  of  sufficient  length  to 
be  characteristic  of  tlie  author,  and,  when  possil)le,  they  are  com- 
plete works  or  sections  of  works. 


F.  B.  Gummere,  Prof,  of  English, 
Ihtmrfonl  Collcf/e :  I  like  the  plan, 
the  selections,  and  the  making  of  the 
hook. 


H.  N.  Ogden,  West  Virginia  Uni- 
versity :  The  hook  fulfils  my  expec- 
tations in  every  respect,  and  will 
become  an  indispensable  help  in  the 
work  of  our  senior  English  class. 

Sidney's  Defense  of  Poesy. 

Edited  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes  by  Albert  S.  Cook,  Professor 
of  English  in  Yale  University.  12mo.  Cloth,  xlv  +  103  pages.  By 
mail,  90  cents ;  for  introduction,  80  cents. 

A  S  a  classic  text-book  of  literary  aesthetics,  Sidney's  Defense  has 
enduring  interest  and  value.  Something  of  the  character  of 
Sidney  as  a  man,  of  the  grandeur  of  his  tneme,  of  the  signifi- 
cance of  poetry,  of  sound  methods  of  profiting  by  poetry  and  of 
judging  it,  —  ought  to  be  disclosed  by  study  of  the  book.  In 
the  notes  everything  is  considered  with  reference  to  the  learner, 
as  far  as  possible  ;  and  the  point  of  view  is  not  exclusively  that 
of  the  grammarian,  the  antiquary,  the  rhetorician,  or  the  ex- 
plorer of  Elizabethan  literature,  but  has  been  chosen  to  include 
something  of  all  these,  and  more. 


William  Minto,  Prof,  of  Litera- 
ture, University  of  Aberdeen:  It 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  very  thorough 
and  instructive  piece  of  work.  The 
interests  of  the  student  are  consulted 
in  every  sentence  of  the  Introduction 
and  Notes,  and  the  paper  of  ques- 
tions is  admirable  as  a  guide  to  the 
thorough  study  of  the  substance  of 
the  essay. 

Homer  T.  Fuller,  Pres.  Worcester 
Polytechnic  Institute,  Worcester, 
Mass. :  I  think  every  lover  of  the 
best  specimens  of  good  thought  and 


good  writing  in  our  mother  tongiie 
must  confess  his  obligations  to  both 
editor  and  publishers  of  such  a 
volume  as  this.  First,  for  the  breadth 
and  accuracy  of  the  notes;  second, 
for  the  historical  research  and  good 
critical  judgment  displayed  in  the 
introduction ;  third,  for  the  good 
taste  and  clearness  of  the  type  and 
print;  and  fourth,  for  the  timeliness 
of  the  appearance  of  a  volume  which 
just  at  present  calls  attention  to  some 
of  the  essentials  of  poetry. 


10  HIGHER    ENGLISH. 

Shelley's  Defense  of  Poetry. 

Edited,  with  lutroduction  and  Notes,  by  Albert  S.  Cook,  Professor  of 
English  in  Yale  University.  12mo.  Cloth,  xxvi  +  8(5  pages.  Price  by 
mail,  GO  cents ;  for  introduction,  50  cents. 

OIIELLEY'S  Defense  may  be  regarded  as  a  conipanion-piece  to 
that  of  Sidney.  In  their  diction,  however,  the  one  is  of  the 
sixteenth  century  and  the  other  of  the  nineteenth.  For  this  reason 
a  comparison  of  the  two  is  of  interest  to  the  student  of  historical 
English  style.  But,  apart  from  this,  the  intrinsic  merits  of  Shelley's 
essay  must  ever  recommend  it  to  the  lover  of  poetry  and  of  beauti- 
ful English.  The  truth  which  lie  perceives  and  expounds  is  one 
which  peculiarly  needs  enforcement  at  the  present  day,  and  it  is 
nowhere  presented  in  a  more  concise  or  attractive  form. 


John  F.  Genung,  Prof,  of  Rhetoric, 
Ain/ierat  (JuUeije:  By  his  excellent 
editions  of  these  three  works,  Profes- 
sor Cook  is  doing  invaluable  service 
for  the  study  of  poetry.  The  works 
themselves,  written  by  men  who  were 
masters  alike  of  poetry  and  prose, 
are  standard  as  literature;    and  in 


the  introductions  and  notes,  which 
evince  in  every  jjart  the  thorough  and 
sympathetic  scholar,  as  also  in  the 
beautiful  form  given  to  the  books  by 
printer  and  binder,  the  student  has 
:11  the  help  to  the  reading  of  them 
that  he  can  desire. 


Cardinal  Newman's  Essay  on  Poetry, 

With  reference  to  Aristotle's  Poetics.  Edited,  with  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  Albert  S.  Cook,  Professor  of  English  in  Yale  University. 
8vo.  Limp  cloth,  x  +  36  pages.  Mailing  price,  35  cents ;  for  introduc- 
tion, 30  cents. 

rnilE  study  of  what  is  essential  and  what  accidental  in  poetry  is 
more  and  more  engaging  the  attention  of  thoughtful  men, 
particularly  those  occupied  with  educational  work.  Newman's 
Essay  expresses  the  view  of  one  who  was  a  man  of  both  action 
and  theory.  Besides  this,  the  Essay  is  a  notable  example  of  the 
literary  work  of  one  who  has  been  considered  the  greatest  master 
of  style  in  this  generation.  The  illustrative  apparatus  provided  by 
the  editor  includes  practical  hints  on  the  study  of  Greek  drama  in 
Englisli,  an  index,  an  analysis,  and  a  few  suggestive  notes. 


Hiram  Corson,  Prof,  of  Enf/Iish, 
C'orni'U  Universiti/.  In  its  editorial 
character  it's  an  elegant  piece  of 
work.    .   .   .      The  introduction  is  a 


midtum  in  parvo  bit  of  writing ;  and 
the  notes  show  the  recherrhd  scholar- 
ship of  the  editor. 


IlKillEU    ENGLISH.  1  I 

The  Art  of  Poetry : 

The  Poetical  Treatises  of  Horace,  Vida,  and  Boileau,  with  the  trans- 
lations by  Howes,  Pitt,  and  Soame. 

Eilitc'd  by  Alhkkt  S  Cook,  Professor  of  the  Eiiylisli  Lauguiij;o  iind 
Literature  in  Yale  University.  Linio.  Cloth.  214  pages.  Mailing 
priee,  ^l-'if);  for  introduction,  $1.12. 

''pilIS  voluino  i.s  iiiteiulod  to  meet  tlie  wants  of  three  classes  of 
teachers  and  stndents,  those  of  Latin,  French,  and  Englisli  or 
comparative  literature.  To  the  first  class  it  will  furnish  the  best 
Latin  metrical  criticisms,  ancient  and  modern,  on  poetry  ;  to  the 
second,  a  classic  -which  every  highly  educated  Frenchman  is  sup 
posed  to  know  hy  heart  ;  and  to  the  third,  an  authoritative  state- 
ment, by  poets  themselves,  of  the  canons  recognized  in  the 
Augustan  ages  of  Latin,  Italian,  and  French  literature,  and,  to  a 
very  considerable  extent,  in  the  so-called  Augustan  period  of 
English  literature,  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  Those  who  read 
Latin  and  French  will  here  find  the  origiiuxls,  while  those  who 
read  only  English  are  provided  with  standard  translations.  A 
full  index,  containing  lists  of  the  Homeric  and  Virgilian  passages 
illustrated  and  a  topical  analysis  of  the  threefold  work  enhance 
its  value  for  the  class-room  and  the  private  student. 


as  well  as  liis  scholarship.  ...  I 
wish  to  express  my  admiration  of 
such  faithful  and  competent  editing. 


Bliss  Perry,  Prof,  of  English, 
WUlhtins  L'vlleye:  The  fullness  and 
accuracy  of  the  references  in  the 
notes  is  a  testimony  to  his  patience 

Addison's  Criticisms  on  Paradise  Lost. 

Eilited  l)y  Albert  S.  Cook,  Professor  of  the  En,i,disli  Language  and  Lit- 
erature in  Yale  University.  12mo.  Cloth,  xxvi  +  200  pages.  Mailing 
price,  $1.10;  for  introduction,  $1.00. 

T^HE  text  of  this  edition  is  based  upon  the  literal  reproductions 

of  Arber  and  Morley,  and,  allowing  for  the  modernization  of 

spelling  and  punctuation,  is  believed  to  be  more  correct  than  any 

published  in  this  centiuy.     The  index  is  unusually  full,  and  will 

enable  Addison's  comments  on  any  particular  passage  of  Paradise 

Lost,  as  well  as  on  those  of  the  aiacient  epics  with  which  it  is 

compared,  to  be  found  with  the  least  possible  trouble. 


V.  D.  Scudder,  Inst,  in  English 
Literature,  WcHcsImj  College:  It 
seems  to  me  admirably  edited  and  to 


be  welcome  as  an  addition  to  our 
store  of  text-books. 


12  HIGHER    ENGLISH. 

'  What  is  Poetry  ? ' 

Leigh  Hunt's  An  Answer  to  the  Question  including  Remarks  on 
Versification. 

Edited  by  Albert  S.  Cook,  Professor  of  the  English  Language  and 
Literature  in  Yale  University.  12nio.  Cloth.  104  pages.  Mailing 
price,  50   cents;  for  introduction,   60  cents. 

/^NE  of  the  most  delightful  short  papers  on  the  subject  of 
poetry  is  this  of  Leigh  Hunt.  Its  definitions,  its  quotations, 
and  especially  its  charm  and  spirit  make  it  peculiarly  valuable 
for  school  and  college  use  as  an  introduction  to  a  course  in  poetry 
or  criticism.  In  this  edition  the  quotations  are  conformed  to  the 
best  texts,  which  cannot  always  be  said  of  the  ordinary  issues. 
The  notes  are  few  and  brief,  and  have,  for  convenience,  been 
relegated  to  the  foot  of  the  page  ;  in  many  cases  they  are  merely 
devoted  to  locating  the  quotations  employed  in  the  text,  an  aid 
for  which  both  teacher  and  student  will  be  thankful.  The  index, 
as  in  other  books  by  the  same  editor,  is  a  featm-e  of  the  new 
edition. 

Analytics  of  Literature. 

By  L.  A.  Sherman,  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  the  University 
of  Nebraska.  12mo.  Cloth.  488  pages.  Mailing  price,  |iL40;  for 
introduction,  .'5!1.25. 

'T^HIS  book  was  wi'itten  to  embody  a  new  system  of  teaching 
■  literature  that  has  been  tried  with  great  success.  The  chief 
features  of  the  system  are  the  recognition  of  elements,  and  insuring 
an  exjierience  of  each.,  on  the  part  of  the  learner,  according  to  the 
laboratory  plan.  The  principal  stages  in  the  evolution  of  form 
in  literatujre  are  made  especial  subjects  of  study. 

It  aims  to  make  criticisni  begin  on  less  vague  and  more  exact 
foundations.  The  discussion  in  each  chapter  is  in  the  nature  of  a 
condensed  lecture  before  laboratory  experiment  and  verification  in 
the  topic  treated.  The  text-pages  of  the  volume  proper  are  adapted 
alike  to  students  of  higher  or  lower  gracle,  and  the  treatment,  so 
far  as  left  incomplete,  is  continued  in  notes  provided  in  an  appen- 
dix. To  aid  teachers  not  acquainted  with  laboratory  methods, 
hints  and  suggestions  how  to  set  the  student  at  work  for  hinisclf 
are  added  to  Tnany  chapters. 


HIGHER    ENGLISH.  13 

Ben  Jonson's  Timber:  or  Discoueries ; 

Made  upon  Men  and  Matter,  as  they  have  Flowed  out  of  his  Daily 
Reading,  or  had  their  Reflux  to  his  Peculiar  Notions  of  the  Times. 

Edited,  with  Iiilrodiiclion  and  Notes,  by  Fklix  E.  Schelling,  Professor 
in  tlie  University  of  Peinisylviuiia.  12nio.  Cloth,  xxxviii  +  l(j() pages. 
Mailing  price,  ilO  cents;  for  introduction,  80  cents. 

T^niS  is  the  first  attempt  to  edit  a  long-neglected  English  classic, 
which  needs  only  to  be  better  known  to  take  its  place  among 
the  best  examples  of  the  height  of  Elizabethan  prose.  'J'he  text 
—  the  restoration  of  wjiich  entitles  the  book  to  a  place  in  every 
library  —  is  based  on  a  carefnl  collation  of  the  folio  of  Kill  with 
subsequent  editions  ;  with  such  modernization  in  spelling  and 
punctuation  as  a  conservative  judgment  has  deemed  imperative. 
Tlie  introdtiction  and  a  copious  body  of  notes  have  been  framed 
with  a  view  to  the  intelligent  understanding  of  an  author  whose 
wide  learning  and  wealth  of  allusion  make  him  the  fittest  exponent 
of  the  scholarship  as  well  as  the  literary  style  and  feeling  of  his  age. 


Edward  Dowden,  Prof,  of  English, 
Triiii/i/  College,  iJublin,  Ireland :  It 
is  a  matter  for  rejoicing  that  so  valu- 
able and  interesting  a  piece  of  liter- 


ature as  this  prose  work  of  Jonson, 
should  be  made  easily  accessible  and 
should  have  all  the  advantages  of 
scholarly  editing. 


A  Primer  of  English  Verse. 

By  Hiram  Corson,  Professor  of  English  Literature  in  Cornell  Univer- 
sity. 12mo.  Cloth.  iv  + 232  pages.  By  mail,  .$L10:  for  introduction, 
^1.00. 

T^HE  leading  purpose  of  this  volume  is  to  introduce  the  student 
to  the  aesthetic  and  organic  character  of  English  Verse  —  to 
cultivate  his  susceptibility  to  verse  as  an  inseparable  part  of  poetic 
expression.  To  this  end,  the  various  effects  provided  for  by  the 
poet,  either  consciously  or  unconsciously  on  his  part,  are  given  for 
the  student  to  practice  upon,  until  those  effects  come  out  distinctly 
to  his  feelings. 


The  University  Magazine,  New 
York:  Prof.  Corson  lias  given  us 
a  most  interesting  and  thorough 
treatise  on  the  characteristics  and 
uses  of  English  metres.  He  dis- 
cusses the  force  and  effects  of  vari- 


ous metres,  giving  examples  of  usage 
from  various  poets.  The  book  will 
be  of  great  use  to  both  the  critical 
student  and  to  those  who  recognize 
that  iMietry,  like  music,  is  constructed 
on  scientific  and  precise  principles. 


14  HIGHER    ENGLISH. 

Fiue  Short  Courses  of  Reading  in  English  Litera- 

ture. 

With  Biographical  aud  Critical  References.  By  C.  T.  Winchester, 
Professor  of  English  Literatnre  in  Wesleyan  University.  Sq.  16mo.' 
Cloth.   V  +  99  pages.    Mailing  price,  4.5  cents ;  for  introdnction,  40  cents. 

T^HIS  little  book  lays  out  five  short  courses  of  reading  from  the 

most  prominent  writers  in  pure  literature  of    the  last  three 

centuries,  beginning  with  ISIarlowe  and  ending  with   Tennyson. 

The  book  contains  also  information  as  to  the  best  editions  for 

student  use,  with  extended  and  well  chosen  lists  of  critical  and 

biographical  authorities. 

Le  Baron  R.  Briggs,  Professor  of  much  pleased  with  it.    It  cannot  help 
English,  Ihu-LKcrd  University :  I  am  being  useful. 

Synopsis  of  English  and  American  Literature. 

By  G.  J.  Smith,  Instructor  of  English,  Washington  (D.C.)  Higli  School. 
8vo.     Cloth.     125  pages.     By  mail,  !>0  cents  ;  for  introduction,  80  cents. 

QNE  finds  here  in  every  case  tlie  author's  full  name,  the  dates 
of  birth  and  death,  the  class  of  writers  to  which  lie  belongs, 
the  clironological  place  of  that  class  in  the  development  of  litera- 
ture, his  most  important  works,  his  most  distinguished  contem- 
poraries, the  leading  events  of  the  time,  and,  in  most  cases  a  few 
clear  words  of  explanation  or  criticism. 


W.    B.     Chamberlain,    Prof,    of 

Rhetoric,  Oherlin  College :  Its  clear- 
ness, compactness,  and  readiness  for 
reference  must  make  it  one  of  the 
most  useful  tools  for  either  teacher 
or  student.     It  gives  a  vast  amount 


of  most  valuable  information  in  the 
most  economical  manner  possible.  A 
very  valuable  feature  is  its  correla- 
tion of  literary  with  political  and 
general  historical  events.  I  regard 
it  as  a  decided  success. 


Shakespeare's  Tragedy  of  Hamlet 

For  the  use  of  Colleges,  High  Schools,  Academies  and  Clubs.  By  Car- 
roll Lewis  Maxcy,  A.B.,  Associate  Principal  and  Instructor  in  Eng- 
lish, Troy  (N.Y.)  Academy.  Square  Kimo.  Cloth.  200  pages.  Mail- 
ing price,  50  cents;  for  introtluction,  45  cents. 

A  VERY  few  notes  have  been  added  to  explain  passages  which 
would  otherwise  be  unintelligible.     The  most  famous  quota- 
tions are  grouped  at  tlie  end  of  eacli  act. 

The  Philosophy  of  American  Literature. 

By  (;iu<:knougii  White,  A.M.  ]2nio.  Flexible  cloth,  iv  +  6G  pages. 
By  mail,  35  cents;  for  intnxluctictn,  ,'50  cents. 


•  ''^ktclrMf^jArLisH.  15       1 

The  Best  Elizabethan  Plays. 

Edited  with  an  Iiitroductiou  by  AVili.iam  R.  Thayer.    i2mo.    Cloth. 
611  pages.    By  mail,  ^1.40;  for  introduction,  $1.25. 

rpiIE  selection  comprises  The  Jew  of  Malta,  by  Marlowe;  Thb 
Alchemist,  by  Ben  Jonson ;  Philaster,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher; 
The  Tioo  Noble  Kinsmen,  by  Fletcher  and  Shakespeare ;  and  The 
Duchess  of  Malfi,  by  Webster.  It  thus  affords  not  only  the  best 
specimen  of  the  dramatic  work  of  each  of  the  five  Elizabetlian 
poets  who  rank  next  to  Shakespeare,  but  also  a  general  view  of  the 
development  of  English  drama  from  its  rise  in  Marlowe  to  its  last 
strong  expression  in  Webster.  The  necessary  introduction  to  the 
reading  of  each  play  is  concisely  given  in  the  Preface.  Great  care 
has  been  used  in  expurgating  the  text. 


Felix  E.  Schelling,  Professor  of 
Ewjlish,  University  of  Pennsyl- 
vania: This  has  proved  invaluable 
to  me  in  my  Seminar.  All  profes- 
sors of  English  literature  must  wel- 
come such  intelligent  and  scholarly 
editions  of  our  enduring  classics. 


Charles  F.  Richardsoii,  Prof,  of 
Enylish,  Dartmouth  College:  The 
book  is  an  excellent  one,  intelligently 
edited,  equipped  with  brief  and  sen- 
sible notes,  and  introduced  l)y  a 
preface  of  real  critical  insight.  Alto- 
gether, it  is  well  fitted  for  college  use. 


A  Method  of  English  Composition. 

By  T.  Whiting  B.»  ncroft,  late  Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Lit- 
erature in  Brown  University.  12nio.  Cloth.  101  pages.  Mailing 
price,  55  cents ;  for  introduction,  50  cents. 

Notes  on  English  Literature. 

By  Fred  Parker  Emery,  Instructor  in  English  in  the  Massachusetts 
Institute  of  Technology,  Boston.  12mo.  Cloth.  152  pages.  By  mail, 
SI. 10;  for  introduction,  gl.OO. 

ri^HIS  book  is  a  departure  from  the  ordinary  mode  of  teaching 
English  Literature.  It  follows  the  critical,  comparative,  and 
.  philosophical  method  of  the  best  universities,  and  combines  the 
advantages  of  the  tabulated  synopsis  of  authors  and  books  with 
those  of  the  critical  literary  history.  History,  politics,  society,  and 
religion  are  studied  with  the  proper  perspective  in  relation  to  liter- 
ature, and  are  made  to  show  why  literature  is  necessarily  charac- 
teristic of  the  age  that  produced  it. 


Leroy  Stephens,  Pres.  Western 
Pennsylvania  Classical  and  Scie?i- 
tific  institute,  Ml.  Pleasant,  Pa.: 
Nothing  that  I  have  seen  compares 


with  it  in  the  value  of  the  references 
by  which  history  and  literature  are 
kept  so  closely  linked  together. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


to-URL    JU^^  1966 


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MAR  311: 
MAl^  2 1  1975 


Form  L9— Series  444 


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